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QUEEN MARY: 



A DRAMA. 



■ By 
ALFRED S:ENNYS0N. 



[author's edition, from advance sheets.] 




BOSTON 



JAMES R. OSGOOD AND COMPANY, 

(Late Tioknor & Fields, and Fields, Osgood, & Co.) 



1875. 



H 



/ / 






Fk AN KLIN Press : Ranp, aveey, & Co., 
Boston. 



DRiMATIS PERSONS. 



Queen Mary. 

Philip (King of Naples and Sicily, afterwards King of 
Spain). 

The Princess Elizabeth. 

Keginald Pole (Cardinal and Papal Legate). 

Simon Eenard (Spanish Ambassador). 

Le Sieur de Noailles (French Ambassador). 

Thomas Oranmer (Archbishop of Canterbury). 

Sir Nicholas Heath (Archbishop of York-; Lord Chan- 
cellor after Gardiner). 

Edward Courtenay (Earl of Devon). 

Lord William Howard (afterwards Lord Howard and 
Lord High Admiral). 

Lord Williams of Thame. 

Lord Paget. 

Lord Petre. 

Stephen Gardiner (Bishop of Winchester and Lord 
Chancellor). 

Edmund Bonner (Bishop of London). 

Thomas Thirlby (Bishop of Ely). 

Sir Thomas Wyatt I (i„«„n-ectionaiy Leaclors). 

Sir Thomas Stafford ' 

Sir llALPii Bagenhall. 

Sir Pobert Southwell. 

Sir Henry Bedingfield. 

Sir William Cecil. 

Sir Thomas White (Lord Mayor of London). 



6 DRAMATIS PERSONS. 

The Duke of Alva 



: (attending on Philip). 
The Count de Feria ) 

Petek Maktyr. 

Father CoiiE. 

Father Bourne. 

Villa Garcia. 

Soto. 

Captaik Bbett j (Adherents of Wyatt). 

Antony Knyvett ) 

Peters (Gentleman of Lord Howard). 

PoGER (Servant to Noailles). 

William (Servant to Wyatt). 

Steward of Household to the Princess Elizabeth. 

Old Nokes and Nokes. 

Marchioness of Exeter (Mother of Conrtenay). 

Lady Clarence \ 

Lady Magdalen Dacres } (Ladies in waiting to the 

Alice I ^^^^^^)- 

Maid of Honor to the Princess Elizabeth. 

Joan | ^^^^^^ Country Wives). 

Lords and other Attendants, Members of the Privy Coun- 
cil, Members of Parliament, two Gentlemen, Alder- 
men, Citizens, Peasants, Ushers, Messengers, Guards, 
Pages, &c. 



I 



QUEEI^ MARY. 



I 



QUEEN MARY. 



ACT I. 

SCENE I. — ALDGATE RICHLY DECO- 
RATED. 

Crowd. Marshalmen. 

Marshalman. 

Stand back, keep a clear lane. When will 
her Majest}^ pass, sayst thou ? wh}^ now, even 
now ; wherefore draw back 3'our heads and 3^our 
horns before I break them, and make what noise 
3'ou will with 3'our tongues, so it be not treason. 
Long live Queen Mary, the lawful and legitimate 
daughter of Harry the Eighth. Shout, knaves ! 

Citizens. 

Long live Queen Mary ! 



I 



10 QUEEN MARY. [ACT I. 

First Citizen. 

That's a hard word, legitimate ; what does it 
mean ? 

Second Citizen. 
It means a bastard. 

Third Citizen. 

Nay, it means true-born. 

First Citizen. 

Wh}", didn't the Parliament make her a bas- 
tard? 

Second Citizen. 
No ; it was the Lady Elizabeth. 

Third Citizen. 
That was after, man ; that was after. 

First Citizen. 
Then which is the bastard? 

Second Citizen. 

Troth, they be both bastards by Act of Parlia- 
ment and Council. 



SCENE I.] QUEEN MARY. 11 

Third Citizen. 

Ay, the Parliament can make ever}^ true-born 
man of us a bastard. Old Nokes, can't it make 
thee a bastard? thou shouldst know, for thou art 
as white as three Christmasses. 

Old Nokes (dreamily). 

Who's a-passing? King Edward or King 

Richard ? 

Third Citizen. 

No, old Nokes. 

Old Nokes. 
It's Harry ! 

Third Citizen. 

It's Queen Mary. 

Old Nokes. 

The blessed Mary's a-passing ! 

\_Falls on his knees. 

Nokes. 

Let father alone, my masters ! he's past 3^our 
questioning. 

Third Citizen. 
Answer thou for him, then ! thou art no such 



12 QUEEN MARY. [ACT I. 

cockerel thyself, for thou was born i' the tail end 
of old Harry the Seventh. 

NOKES. 

Eh! that was before bastard-making began. 
I was born true man at five in the forenoon i' 
the tail of old Harry, and so they can't make me 
a bastard. 

Third Citizen. 

But if Parliament can make the Queen a bas- 
tard, why, it follows all the more tliat thej' can 
make thee one, who art fray'd i' the knees, and 
out at elbow, and bald o' the back, and bursten 
at the toes, and down at heels. 

NOKES. 

I was born of a true man and a ring'd wife, 
and I can't argue upon it ; but I and my old 
woman 'ud burn upon it, that would we. 

Marsh A LM AN. 

What are you cackling of bastard}' under the 
Queen's own nose? I'll have 3'ou flogg'd and 
burnt too, by the Rood I will. 

First Citizen. 
He swears by ilie Eood. Whew ! 



SCENE I.] QUEEK MAHY. 18 

Second Citizen. 

Hark ! the trumpets. 

[_The Procession passes^ Mary and Eliz- 
abeth riding side by side^ and disap- 
pears under the gate. 

Citizens. 

Long live Queen Mary ! down with all trai- 
tors ! God save Her Grace ; and death to 
Northumberland ! [^Exeunt. 

Manent Two Gentlemen. 

First Gentleman. 
By God's light a noble creature, right royal. 

Second Gentleman. 

She looks comelier than ordinary to-day ; but 
to my mind the Lady Elizabeth is the more noble 
and royal. 

First Gentleman. 

I mean the Lady Elizabeth. Did you hear (I 
have a daughter in her service who reported it) 
that she met the Queen at Wanstead with five 
hundred horse, and the Queen (tho' some say 
they be much divided) took her hand, calFd her 



14 QUEEN MARY. [ACT I. 

sweet sister, and kiss'cl not her alone, but all 
the ladies of her following. 

Second Gentleman. 

Ay, that was in her hour of joy, there will be 
plenty to sunder and unsister them again ; this 
Gardiner for one, who is to be made Lord Chan- 
cellor, and will pounce like a wild beast out of 
his cage to worry Cranmer. 

First Gentleman. 

And furthermore, my daughter said that when 
there rose a talk of the late rebellion, she spoke 
even of Northumberland pitifull}^, and of the 
good Lady Jane as a poor innocent child who 
had but obeyed her father ; and furthermore, she 
said that no one in her time should be burnt for 
heresy. 

Second Gentleman. 

Well, sir, I look for happy times. 

First Gentleman. 

There is but one thing against them. I know 
not if you know. 

Second Gentleman. 
I suppose 3^ou touch upon the rumor that 



SCENE I.] QUEEN MARY. 15 

Charles, the master of the world, has offer'cl 
her his son Philip, the Pope and the Devil. 1 
trust it is but a rumor. 

First Gentleman. 

She is going now to the Tower to loose the 
prisoners there, and among them Courtenaj, to 
be made Earl of Devon, of royal blood, of splen- 
did feature, whom the council and all her people 
wish her to marry. May it be so, for we are 
many of us Catholics, but few Papists, and the 
Hot Gospellers will go mad upon it. 

Second Gentleman. 

Was she not betroth'd in her babj^hood to the 
Great Emperor himself? 

First Gentleman. 

Ay, but he^s too old. 

Second Gentleman. 

And again to her cousin Reginald Pole, now 
Cardinal, but I hear that he too is full of aches 
and broken before his day. 

First Gentleman. 

O, the Pope could dispense with his Cardinal- 
ate, and his achage, and his breakage, if that 
were all : but will 3'ou not follow the procession ? 



16 



QUEEK MARY. 



[act I. 



Second Gentleman. 
No ; I have seen enough for this day. 

First Gentleman. 

Well, I shall follow ; if I can get near enough 
I shall judge with m}' own eyes whether Her 
Grace incline to this splendid scion of Plantage- 
net. lExeunt. 



SCENE II. — A ROOM IN LAMBETH 
PALACE. 



Cranmer. 

To Strasburg, Antwerp, Frankfort, Zurich, 

Worms, 
Geneva, Basle — our Bishops from their sees 
Or fled, they sa}^, or flying — Poinet, Barlow, 
Bale, Scory, Coverdale ; besides the Deans 
Of Christchurch, Durham, Exeter, and Wells — 
Ailmer and Bullingham, and hundreds more ; 
So they report : I shall be left alone. 
No : Hooper, Ridley, Latimer will not fly. 

Enter Peter Martyr. 



SCENE II.] QUEEN MARY. 17 

Peter Martyr. 

Fly, Cranmer ! were there nothing else, your 

name 
Stands first of those who sign'd the Letters 

Patent 
That gave her royal crown to Lad}^ Jane. 

Cranmer. 

Stand first it ma}^, but it was written last : 
Those that are now her Privy Council, sign'd 
Before me : nay, the Judges had pronounced 
That our joung Edward might bequeath the 

crown 
Of England, putting by his father's will. 
Yet I stood out, till Edward sent for me. 
The wan bo3'-king, with his fast-fading e^^es 
Fixt hard on mine, his frail transparent hand, 
Damp with the sweat of death, and griping mine, 
Whisper' d me, if I loved him, not to yield 
His Church of England to the Papal wolf 
And Mary ; then I could no more — I sign'd. 
Na}^, for bare shame of inconsistency. 
She cannot pass her traitor council by, 
To make me headless, 

Peter Martyr. 

That might be forgiven. 



1 



18 



QUEEN MARY. 



[ACT I. 



I tell you, fly, my Lord. Yon do not own 
The bodily presence in the Eucharist, 
Their wafer and perpetual sacrifice : 
Your creed will be 3 our death. 

Cranmer. 

Step after step, 
Thro' many voices cr3'ing right and left. 
Have I climb' d back into the primal church, 
And stand within the porch, and Christ with me : 
My flight were such a scandal to the faith, 
The downfall of so man}^ simple souls, 
I dare not leave my post. 

Peter Martyr. 

But you divorced 
Queen Catharine and her father ; hence, her hate 
Will burn till you are burn'd. 

Cranmer. 

I cannot help it. 
The Canonists and Schoolmen were with me. 
''Thou shalt not wed th}' brother's wife." — 

'Tis written, 
''They shall be childless." True, Mary wai 

born. 
But France would not accept her for a bride 
As being born from incest ; and this wrought 



SCENE II.] QUEEN MARY. 19 

Upon the king ; and child by child, j^ou know, 
Were momentary sparkles out as quick 
Almost as kindled ; and he brought his doubts 
And fears to me. Peter, I'll swear for him 
He did believe the bond incestuous. 
But wherefore am I trenching on the time 
That should alread}^ have seen your steps a mile 
From me and Lambeth? God be with jou ! Go. 

Peter Martyr. 

Ah, but how fierce a letter 3'ou wrote against 
Their superstition when they slander' d 3'OU 
For setting up a mass at Canterbury 
To please the Queen. 

Cranmer. 

It was a wheedling monk 
Set lip the mass. 

Peter Martyr. 

I know it, my good Lord. 
But 3^ou so bubbled over with hot terms 
Of Satan, liars, blasphemy. Antichrist, 
She never will forgive you. Fly, my Lord, fly ! 

Cranmer, 
I wrote it, and God grant me power to burn 1 



20 QUEEN MARY. [ACT I. 

Peter Martyk. 

. They have given me a safe conduct : for all that 
I dare not stay. I fear, I fear, I see you, 
Dear friend, for the last time ; farewell, and fly. 

Cranmer. 
Fly and farewell, and let me die the death. 

[^Exit Peter Martyr. 

Enter Old Servant. 

O, kind and gentle master, the Queen's Officers 
Are here in force to take you to the Tower. 

Cranmer. 

Ay, gentle friend, admit them. I will go. 

I thank my God it is too late to fly. \^Exeunt. 



SCENE III. — ST. PAUL'S CROSS. 

Father Bourne in the pulpit, A crowd. Mar- 
chioness OF Exeter, Courtenay. The 
SiEUR DE NoAiLLES aucl hls man Roger in 
front of the stage,- Hubbub, 

NOAILLES. 

Hast thou let fall those papers in the palace ? 



SCENE III.] QUEEN MARY. 21 

Roger. 

Ay, sir. 

NOAILLES. 

" There will be no peace for Mary till Elizabeth 
lose her head." 

Roger. 

Ay, sir. 

NOAILLES. 

And the other. ''Long live Elizabeth the 
Queen." 

Roger. 

A}^, sir ; she needs must tread upon them. 

NOAILLES. 

Well. 
These beastty swine make such a grunting here, 
I cannot catch what father Bourne is sa3^ing. 

Roger. 

Quiet a moment, my masters ; hear what the 
shaveling has to say for himself. 

Crowd. 
Hush — hear. 

Bourne. 

— and so this unhappy land, long divided in 
itself, and severed from the faith, will return into 
the one true fold, seeing that our gracious Virgin 
Queen hath — 



22 QUEEK MARY. [ACT 1. 

Crowd. 

No pope ! no pope ! 

Roger (to those about Jiim, mimicking Bourne). 

— hath sent for the holy legate of the holy father 
the Pope, Cardinal Pole, to give us all that holy 
absolution which — 

First Citizen. 
Old Bourne to the life ! 

Second Citizen. 
Holy absolution ! hol}^ Inquisition ! 

Third Citizen. 
Down with the Papist. \^Huhhuh, 

Bourne. 

— and now that your good bishop, Bonner, 
who hath lain so long under bonds for the faith — 

\^Huhhuh. 

NOAILLES. 

Friend Roger, steal thou in among the crowd, 
And get the swine to shout Elizabeth. 
Yon gray old Gospeller, sour as midwinter, 
Beo:in with him. 



SCENE ni.] QUEEN MARY. 23 

Roger (goes). 

By the mass, old friend, we'll have no pope 
here while the Lady Elizabeth lives. 

Gospeller. 

Art thou of the true faith, fellow, that swearest 
b}^ the mass? 

Roger. 

Ay, that am I, new converted, but the old 
leaven sticks to m}'^ tongue yet. 

First Citizen. 

He sa3's right ; by the mass we'll have no mass 

here. 

Voices of the Crowd. 

Peace ! hear him ; let his own words damn the 
Papist. From thine own mouth I judge thee — 
tear him down. 

Bourne. 

— and since our Gracious Queen, let me call 
her our second Virgin Mary, hath begun to re- 
edify the true temple — 

First Citizen. 

Virgin Mary ! we'll have no virgins here — 
we'll have the Lady Elizabeth ! 



24 QUEEN MARY. [ACT I. 

\^JS words are drawn ^ a knife is hurled^ and 
sticks in the pulpit. The mob throng 
to the pidpit stai7's. 

Marchioness of Exeter. 

Son Courtenay, wilt tliou see the holy father 
Murder'd before th3^face? up, son, and save him ! 
They love thee, and thou canst not come to harm. 

Courtenay (in the pulpit) . 

Shame, shame, my masters ! are you English-born, 
And set yourselves by hundreds against one ? 

Crowd. 
A Courtena}^ ! a Courtenay ! 

[J. train of Spanish servants crosses at the 
hack of the stage, 

Noailles. 

These birds of passage come before their time : 
Stave off the crowd upon the Spaniard there. 

EOGER. 

My masters, 3^onder's fatter game for you 
Than this old gaping gurg03'le : look 3 ou there — 
The Prince of Spain coming to wed our Queen ! 
After him, bo3's ! and pelt him from the citj'. 



SCENE III,] QUEEN MARY. 26 

\_They seize stones and follow the Spaniards, 
Exeunt on the other side Marchioness 
OF Exeter and Attendants. 

NoAiLLES (to Roger). 

Stand from me. If Elizabeth lose her head — 

That makes for France. 

And if her people, anger'd thereupon, 

Arise against her and dethrone the Queen — 

That makes for France. 

And if I breed confusion anyway — 

That makes for France. 

Good- day, my Lord of Devon ; 
A bold heart 3^ours to beard that raging mob ! 

COURTENAY. 

M}^ mother said. Go up ; and up I went. 
I knew they would not do me any wrong, 
For I am mighty popular with them, Noailles. 

NOAILLES. 

You looked a king. 

CoURTENAY. 

Why not? I am king's blood. 

Noailles. 
And in the whirl of change may come to be one. 



26 QUEEN MARY. [ACT I. 

COURTENAY. 

Ah! 

NOAILLES. 

But does your gracious Queen entreat you king- 
like? 

CoURTENAY. 

'Fore God, I think she entreats me like a child. 

NOAILLES. 

You've but a dull life in this maiden court, 
I fear, my Lord. 

CoURTENAY. 

A life of nods and yawns. 

NOAILLES. 

So you would honor ni}^ poor house to-night, 
We might enliven you. Divers honest fellows. 
The Duke of Suffolk lately freed from prison. 
Sir Peter Carew and Sir Thomas W^^att, 
Sir Thomas Stafford, and some more — we play. 

CoURTENAY. 

At what? 

NOAILLES. 

The Game of Chess. 

CoURTENAY. 

The Game of Chess ! 
I can play well, and I shall beat you there. 



SCENE III.] QUEEN MARY. 27 

NOAILLES. 

Ay, but we play with Henry, King of France, 
And certain of his court. 

His Highness makes his moves across the channel, 
We answer him with ours, and there are messen- 
gers 
That go between us. 

COURTENAY. 

Why, such a game, sir, were whole years a playing. 

NOAILLES. 

Nay ; not so long I trust. That all depends 
Upon the skill and swiftness of the pla3'ers. 

CoURTENAY. 

The King is skilful at it? 

NOAILLES. 

Very, my Lord. 

CoURTENAY. 

And the stakes high ? 

NOAILLES. 

But not beyond your means. 

CoURTENAY. 

Well, Vm the first of players. I shall ^\in. 



28 



QUEEN MARY. 



[act I. 



NOAILLES. 

With our advice and in our company, 

And so you well attend to the king's moves, 

I think 3 ou may. 

COURTENAY. 

When do 3'ou meet ? 

NOAILLES. 

To-night. 

CoURTENAY (aSldc) , 

I will be there ; the fellow's at his tricks — 
Deep — I shall fathom him. (Aloud.) Good- 
morning, Noailles. [^Exit Courtenay. 

NOAILLES. 

Good-da}^ my Lord. Strange game of chess ! a 

King 
That with her own pawns plaj-s against a Queen, 
Whose play is all to find herself a King. 
Ay ; but this fine blue-blooded Courtenay seems 
Too princel}^ for a pawn. Call him a Knight, 
That, with an ass's not an horse's head, 
Skips every way, from levity or from fear. 
Well, w^e shall use him somehow, so that Gardiner 
And Simon Renard spy not out our game 
Too earl} \ Roger, thinkest thou that an}^ one 
Suspected thee to be my man? 



SCENE IV.] QUEEN MAKY. 29 

Roger. 



Not one, sir. 



NOAILLES. 



No ! the disguise was perfect. Let's away ! 

[^Exeunt, 




SCENE ly. — LONDON. A ROOM IN THE 
PALACE. 

Elizabeth. E7iter Courtenay. 

COURTENAY. 

So yet am I, 

Unless my friends and mirrors lie to me, 

A goodlier-looking fellow than this Philip. 

Pah! 

The Queen is ill advised : shall I turn traitor? 

They've almost talk'd me into : yet the word 

Affrights me somewhat ; to be such a one 

As Harry Bolingbroke hath a lure in it. 

Good now, my Lad}' Queen, tho' by your age. 

And by your looks you are not worth the having, 

Yet by 3'our crown you are. 

\^Seemg Elizabeth. 

The Princess tlierc ? 



30 



QUEEN MARY. 



[act I. 



If I tried her and la — she's amorous. 
Have we not heard of her in Edward's time, 
Her freaks and frolics with the late Lord Admiral ? 
I do believe she'd yield. I should be still 
A party in the state ; and then, who knows — 

Elizabeth. 
What are 3^ou musing on, my Lord of Devon? 

CoURtTENAY. 

Has not the Queen — 

Elizabeth. 

Done what, Sir? 

COURTENAY. 

— Made you follow 
The Lady Suffolk and the Lady Lennox. 
You, 
The heir presumptive. 

Elizabeth. 

Why do 3'ou ask ? you know it. 

Courtenay. 
You needs must bear it hardly. 

Elizabeth. 

No, indeed ! 

I am utterl}^ submissive to the Queen. 



SCENE IV.] QUEEN MARY. 31 

COURTENAY. 

Well, I was musing upon that ; the Quc-en 

Is both my foe and yours : we should be friends. 

Elizabeth. 
My Lord, the hatred of another to us 
Is no true bond of friendship. 

CoURTENAY. 

Might it not 
Be the rough preface of some closer bond? 

Elizabeth. 
My Lord, you late were loosed from out the Tower, 
Where, like a butter fl}^ in a ehrysalis, 
You spent 3'our life ; that broken, out you flutter 
Thro' the new world, go zigzag, now would settle 
Upon this flower, now that ; but all things here 
At court are known ; you have solicited 
The Queen, and been rejiBcted. 

CoURTENAY. 

Flower, she ! 
Half faded ! but 3'ou, cousin, are fresh and sweet 
As the first flower no bee has ever tried. 

Elizabeth. 
Are you the bee to try me ? why, but now 
I called you butterfly. 



32 QUEEN MARY. [ACT I. 

COURTENAY. 

You did me wrong, 
I love not to be called a butterfly : 
Why do you call me butterfly? 

Elizabeth. 
Why do you go so gay then ? 

CoURTENAY. 

Velvet and gold. 
This dress was made me as the Earl of Devon 
To take my seat in ; looks it not right royal ? 

Elizabeth. 
So royal that the Queen forbade your wearing it. 

Courtenay. 
I wear it then to spite her. 

Elizabeth. 

My Lord, my Lord ; 
I see you in the Tower again. Her majest}^ 
Hears you affect the Prince — prelates kneel to 
you. — 

Courtenay. 

I am the noblest blood in Europe, Madam, 
A Courtenay of Devon, and her cousin. 



I 



SCENE IV.] QUEEN MARY. 38 

Elizabeth. 
She hears you make 3'our boast that after all 
She means to wed 3011. Folly, my good Lord. 

COURTENAY. 

How folly ? a great part}^ in the state 
Wills me to wed her. 

Elizabeth. 

Failing her, my Lord, 
Doth not as great a part}^ in the state 
Will you to wed me ? 

Courtenay. 

Even so, fair lad3^ 

Elizabeth. 
You know to flatter ladies. 

Courtenay. 

Nay, I meant 
True matters of the heart. 

Elizabeth. 

My heart, my Lord, 
Is no great party in the state as yet. 

Courtenay. 
Great, said you? nay, you shall be great. I love 

you, 
Lay my life in your hands. Can 3^ou be close? 




34 QUEEN MARY. [ACT 1. 

Elizabeth. 
Can you, my Lord? 

COURTENAY. 

Close as a miser's casket. 
Listen : 

The King of France, Noailles the Ambassador, 
The Duke of Suffolk and Sir Peter Carew, 
Sir Thomas Wyatt, I myself, some others. 
Have sworn this Spanish marriage shall not be. 
If Mary will not hear us — well — conjecture — 
Were I in Devon with my wedded bride, 
The people there so worship me — Your ear ; 
You shall be Queen. 

Elizabeth. 

You speak too low, my Lord ; 
I cannot hear you. 

CoURTENAY. 

^J'll repeat it. 

'teLIZABETH. 

No! 
Stand farther off, or you may lose your head. 

CoURTENAY. 

I have a head to lose for your sweet sake. 



SCENE IV.] QUEEN MARY. 35 

Elizabeth. 

Have you, my Lord? Best keep it for your own. 

Nay, pout not, cousin. 

Not many friends are mine, except indeed 

Among the many. I believe you mine ; 

And so you ma}^ continue mine, farewell, 

And that at once. 

Enter Mary, behind. 

Mary. 

Whispering — leagued together 
To bar me from my Philip. 

COURTENAY. 

Pray — consider — 

Elizabeth {seeing the Queen) . 
Well, that's a noble horse of yours, my Lord. 
I trust that he will carry you well to-day. 
And heal your headache. 

Courtenay. 

You are wild ; what headache ? 
Heartache, perchance ; not headache. 

Elizabeth {aside to Courtenay) . 

Are you blind ? 
[Courtenay sees the Queen and exit. 

Exit Mauy. 



36 QUEEN MARY. [ACT I. 

Enter Lord William Howard. 

Howard. 

Was that my Lord of Devon ? do not you 
Be seen in corners with my Lord of Devon. 
He hath fallen out of favor with the Queen. 
She fears the Lords ma}^ side with you and him 
Against her marriage ; therefore is he dangerous. 
And if this Prince of fluff and feather come 
To woo you, niece, he is dangerous everj^ way. 

Elizabeth. 
Not very dangerous that way, my good uncle. 

Howard. 

But your own state is full of danger here. 
The disaffected, heretics, reformers, 
Look to you as the one to crown their ends. 
Mix not yourself with any plot I pray jow ; 
Nay, if by chance you hear of any sucli, 
Speak not thereof — no, not to your best friend, 
Lest you should be confounded with it. Still — 
Perinde ac cadaver — as the priest says. 
You know 3^our Latin — quiet as a dead body. 
What was my Lord of Devon telling you ? 

Elizabeth. 
Whether he told me any thing or not, 



SCENE IV.] QUEEN MARY. 37 

I follow 3'Our good counsel, gracious uncle. 
Quiet as a dead body. 

Howard. 

You do right well. 
I do not care to know ; but this I charge you, 
Tell Courtenay nothing. The Lord Chancellor 
(I count it as a kind of virtue in him, 
He hath not many) , as a mastiff dog 
May love a puppy cur for no more reason 
Than that the twain have been tied up together. 
Thus Gardiner — for the two were fellow-prisoners 
So many 3^ears in yon accursed Tower — 
Hath taken to this Courtenay. Look to it, niece. 
He hath no fence when Gardiner questions him ; 
All oozes out ; 3'et him — because they know him 
The last White Rose, the last Plantagenet 
(Nay, there is Cardinal Pole, too), the people 
Claim as their natural leader — ay, some say. 
That you shall marry him, make him King belike. 

Elizabeth. 
Do they say so, good uncle? 

Howard. 

Ay, good niece ! 
You should be plain and open with me, niece. 
You should not play upon me. 



38 QUEEN MAKY. [ACT I. 

Elizabeth. 

No, good uncle. 

Enter Gardiner. 

The Queen would see your Grace upon the 
moment. 

Elizabeth. 

Why, my lord Bishop ? 

Gardiner. 

I think she means to counsel your withdrawing 
To Ashridge, or some other country house. 

Elizabeth. 
Why, my lord Bishop ? 

Gardiner. 

1 do but bring the message, know no more. 
Your Grace will hear her reasons from herself. 

Elizabeth. 

'Tis mine own wish fulfiird before the word 
Was spoken, for in truth I had meant to crave 
Permission of her Highness to retire 
To Ashridge, and pursue my studies there. 

Gardiner. 
Madam, to have the wish before the word 



SCENE IV.] QUEEN MARY. 39 

Is man's good Fairy — and the Queen is yours. 
I left her with rich jewels in her hand, 
Whereof 'tis like enough she means to make 
A farewell present to your Grace. 

Elizabeth. 

My Lord, 
I have the jewel of a loyal heart. 

Gardiner. 

I doubt it not, Madam, most loyal. 

\^Bows low and exit, 

Howard. 

See, 
This comes of parleying with my Lord of Devon. 
Well, well, you must obey ; and I myself 
Believe it will be better for your welfare. 
Your time will come. 

Elizabeth. 

I think my time will come. 
Uncle, 

I am of sovereign nature, that I know, 
Not to be queird ; and I have felt within me 
Stirrings of some great doom when God's just hour 
Peals — but this tierce old Gardiner — his big 
baldness, 



40 



QUEEN MARY. 



[act I. 



That irritable forelock which he rubs, 

His buzzard beak and deep-incavern'd eyes 

Half fright me. 

Howard. 

You've a bold heart ; keep it so. 
He cannot touch you save that you turn traitor ; 
And so take heed I pray you — you are one 
Who love that men should smile upon you, niece. 
They'd smile you into treason — some of them. 

Elizabeth. 

I spy the rock beneath the smiling sea. 
But if this Philip, the proud Catholic prince. 
And this bald priest, and she that hates me, seek 
In that lone house, to practise on my life, 
By poison, fire, shot, stab — 

Howard. 

They will not, niece. 
Mine is the fleet and all the power at sea — 
Or will be in a moment. If they dared 
To harm ^-ou, I would blow this Philip and all 
Your trouble to the do^rstar and the devil. 



Elizabeth. 
To the Pleiads, uncle ; they have lost a sister. 



SCENE v.] QUEEN MARY. 41 

Howard. 

Bat why say that ? what have you done to lose her ? 
Come, come, I will go with you to the Queen. 

\_Exeiint. 



SCENE v.— A ROOM IN THE PALACE. 
Mary with Philip's miniature. Alice. 

Mary {kissing the miniature). 

Most goodly, Kinglike, and an emperor's son, — 
A king to be, — is he not noble, girl? 

Alice. 
Goodly enough, your Grace, and yet, methinks, 
I have seen goodlier. 

Mary. 

Ay ; some waxen doll 
Thy baby eye^ have rested on, belike ; 
All red and white, the fashion of our land. 
But my good mother came (God rest her soul) 
Of Spain, and I am Spanish in myself, 
And in my likings. 

Alice. 

By your Grace's leave 




42 QUEEN MARY. [ACT 1. 

Your royal mother came of Spain, but took 
To the English red and white. Your royal father 
(For so they say) was all pure lily and rose 
In his youth, and like a lady. 

Mary. 

O, just God ! 
Sweet mother, you had time and cause enough 
To sicken of his lilies and his roses. 
Cast off, betray'd, defamed, divorced, forlorn ! 
And then the king — that traitor past forgiveness, 
The false archbishop fawning on him, married 
The mother of Elizabeth — a heretic 
Ev'n as she is ; but God hath sent me here 
To take such order with all heretics 
That it shall be, before I die, as tho' 
My father and my brother had not lived. 
What wast thou saying of this Lady Jane, 
Now in the Tower? 

Alice. 

Why, Madam, she was passing 
Some chapel down in Essex, and with her 
Lady Anne Wharton, and the Lady Anne 
Bow'd to the Pyx ; but Lad}^ Jane stood up 
Stiff as the very backbone of heres}'. 
And w^herefore bow ye not, says Lad}^ Anne, 
To liim within there who made Heaven and 
Earth? 



SCENE v.] QUEEN MARY, 43 

I can not, and I dare not, tell your Grace 
What Lady Jane replied. 

Mary. 

But I will have it. 

Alice. 

She said — pray pardon me, and pity her — 
She hath hearken' d evil counsel — ah ! she said. 
The baker made him. 

Mary. 

Monstrous ! blasphemous ! 
She ought to burn. Hence, thou {exit Alice). 

No — being traitor 
Her head will fall : shall it? she is but a child. 
We do not kill the child for doing that 
His father whipt him into doing — a head 
So full of grace and beauty ! would that mine 
Were half as gracious ! O, my lord to be, 
My love, for thy sake onl3^ 
I am eleven years older than he is. 
But will he care for that ? 
No, by the holy Virgin, being noble. 
But love me only : then the bastard sprout, 
My sister, is far fairer than myself. 
Will he be drawn to her ? 
No, being of the true faith with myself. 



44 QUEEN MARY. [ACT I. 

Paget is for him — for to wed with Spain 
Would treble England — Gardiner is against 

him ; 
The Council, people, Parliament against him ; 
But I will have him ! My hard father hated me ; 
My brother rather hated me than loved ; 
My sister cowers and hates me. Holy Virgin, 
Plead with thy blessed Son ; grant me my 

prayer ; 
Give me my Philip ; and we two will lead 
The living waters of the Faith again 
Back thro' their widow' d channel here, and watch 
The parch'd banks rolling incense, as of old, 
To heaven, and kindled with the palms of 
Christ ! 

Enter Usher. 
Who waits, sir? 

Usher. 
Madam, the Lord Chancellor. 

Mary. 

Bid him come in. {Enter Gardiner.) Good- 
morning, m}' good Lord. \_Exit Usher. 

Gardiner. 
That every morning of youi' Majesty 



SCENE v.] QUEEN MARY. 45 

May be most good, is every morning's prayer 
Of your most loyal subject, Stephen Gardiner. 

Mary. 

Come you to tell me this, my Lord? 

Gardiner. 

And more. 
Your people have begun to learn your worth. 
Your pious wish to pay King Edward's debts. 
Your lavish household curb'd, and the remis- 
sion 
Of half that subsidy levied on the people. 
Make all tongues praise and all hearts beat for 

you. 
I'd have you yet more loved : the realm is poor, 
The exchequer at neap-ebb : we might withdraw 
Part of our garrison at Calais. 

Mary. 

Calais ! 

Our one point on the main, the gate of France ! 
I am Queen of England ; take mine eyes, mine 

heart, 
But do not lose me Calais. 

Gardiner. 

Do not fear it. 
Of that hereafter. I say your Grace is loved. 



46 



QUEEN MARY. 



[act I. 



That I may keep you thus, who am 3^our friend 
And ever faithful counsellor, might I speak? 

Mary. 

I can forespeak your speaking. Would I marry 
Prince Philip, if all England hate him? That is 
Your question, and I front it with another : 
Is it England, or a party ? Now, your answer. 

Gardiner. 

My answer is, I wear beneath m}^ dress 

A shirt of mail : my house hath been assaulted. 

And when I walk abroad, the populace. 

With fingers pointed like so mau}^ daggers. 

Stab me in fancy, hissing Spain and Philip ; 

And when I sleep, a hundred men-at-arms 

Guard my poor dreams for England. Men would 

murder me. 
Because the}" think me favorer of this marriage. 

Mary. 

And that were hard upon you, my Lord Chan- 
cellor. 

Gardiner. 

But our young Earl of Devon — 

Mary. 

Earl of Devon ? 



SCENE v.] QUEEN MARY. 47 

I freed him from the Tower, placed him at 

Court ; 
I made him Earl of Devon, and — the fool — 
Hq wrecks his health and wealth on courtesans, 
And rolls himself in carrion like a dog. 

Gardiner. 

More like a school-boy that hath broken bounds, 
Sickening himself with sweets. 

Mary. 

I will not hear of him. 
Good, then, they will revolt ; but I am Tudor, 
And shall control them. 

Gardiner. 

I will help you. Madam, 
Even to the utmost. All the church is grateful. 
You have ousted the mock priest, repulpited 
The shepherd of St. Peter, raised the rood again. 
And brought us back the mass. I am all thanks 
To God and to your Grace : yet I know well. 
Your people, and I go with them so far. 
Will brook nor Pope nor Spaniard here to play 
The tyrant, or in commonwealth or church. 

Mary (showing the picture) . 

Is this the face of one who plays the tyrant? 
Peruse it ; is it not goodly, a}', and gentle? 



48 QUEEN MARY. [ACT I. 

Gardiner. 

Madam, methinks a cold face and a haught3^ 
And when 3^0111* Highness talks of Courtenay — 
Ay, true — a goodly one. I would his life 
Were half as goodly (aside) . 

Mary. 

What is that 3'ou mutter? 

Gardiner. 

Oh, Madam, take it bluntly ; marry Philip, 
And be stepmother of a score of sons ! 
The prince is known in Spain, in Flanders, ha ! 
For Philip — 

Mary. 

You offend us ; 3^ou may leave us. 
You see thro' warping glasses. 

Gardiner. 

If your Majesty — 
Mary. 

I have sworn upon the body and blood of Christ 
I'll none but Philip. 

Gardiner. 

Hath your Grace so sworn r 



SCENE v.] QUEEN MARY. 49 

Mary. 
A} , Simon Renard knows it. 

Gardiner. 

News to me ! 
It then remains for your poor Gardiner, 
So you still care to trust him somewhat less 
Than Simon Renard, to compose the event 
In some such form as least maj^ harm j^our Grace. 

Mary. 

I'll have the scandal sounded to the mud. 
I know it a scandal. 

Gardiner. 

All my hope is now 
It may be found a scandal. 

Mary. 

You offend us. 

Gardiner (aside). 

These princes are like children, must be pliy- 

sick'd, 
The bitter in the sweet. I have lost mine office, 
It may be, thro' mine honest}', like a fool. 

[Exit. 
Enter Usher. 



i 



60 QUEEN MARY. [ACT I. 

Mart. 

Who waits ? 

Usher. 

The Ambassador from France, your Grace. 

Mary. 

Bid him come in. Good-morning, Sir de 
Noailles. [^Exit Usher. 

NoAiLLES {entering) . 
A happy morning to 3'our majest}^ 

Mary. 

And I should some time have a happy morning ; 
I have had none 3^et. What says the King your 
master ? 

Noailles. 

Madam, my master hears with much alarm, 

That 3^ou may marry Philip, Prince of Spain — 

Foreseeing, with whatever unwillingness, 

That if this Philip be the titular king 

Of England, and at war with him, your Grace 

And kingdom will be suck'd into the war. 

Ay, tho' you long for peace ; wherefore, my 

master, 
If but to prove 3^our Majesty's good will. 
Would fain have some fresh treaty drawn be- 
tween you. 



SCENE Y.] QUEEN MARY. 51 

Mary. 

Why some fresh treaty ? wherefore should I do 

it? 
Sir, if we marry, we shall still maintain 
All former treaties with his Majesty. 
Our royal word for that ! and your good master, 
Pray God he do not be the first to break them, 
Must be content with that ; and so, farewell. 

NoAiLLES {going ^ returns) . 

I would your answer had been other. Madam, 
For I foresee dark days. 

Mary. 

And so do I, sir ; 
Your master works against me in the dark. 
I do believe he holp Northumberland 
Against me. 

NOAILLES. 

Nay, pure fantas}^ 3'our Orace. 
Why should lie move against 3^ou ? 

Mary. 

Will you hear why? 
Mary of Scotland, — for I have not own'd 
My sister, and I will not, — after me 
Is heir of England ; and my royal father, 



62 QUEEN MARY. [ACT I. 

To make the crown of Scotland one with ours, 

Had mark'd her for my brother Edward's bride ; 

Ay^ but your king stole her a babe from Scot- 
land 

In order to betroth her to your Dauphin. 

See then : 

Mary of Scotland, married to your Dauphin, 

Would make our England, France ; 

Mar};^ of England, joining hands with Spain, 

Would be too strong for France. 

Yea, were there issue born to her, Spain and we, 

One crown, might rule the world. There lies 
3^our fear. 

That is 3'our drift. You play at hide and seek. 

Show me 3^our faces ! 

NOAILLES. 

Madam, I am amazed : 
French, I must needs wish all good things for 

France. 
That must be pardon'd me ; but I protest 
Your Grace's policy hath a farther flight 
Than mine into the future. We but seek 
Some settled ground for peace to stand upon. 

Mary. 

Well, we will leave all this, sir, to our council. 
Have you seen Philip ever ? 



SCENE v.] QUEEN MAKY, 53 

NOAILLES. 

Only once. 

Mary. 

Is this like Philip ? 

NOAILLES. 

Ay, but nobler-looking. 

Mary. 

Hath he the large ability of the Emperor ? 

NOAILLES. 

No, surel}^ 

Mary. 

I can make allowance for thee, 
Thou speakest of the enemy of thy king. 

NOAILLES. 

Make no allowance for the naked truth. 
He is every way a lesser man than Charles ; 
Stone-hard, ice-cold — no dash of daring in him. 

Mary. 
If cold, his life is pure. 

NOAILLES. 

Why {smiling)^ no, indeed. 



54 QUEEN MARY. [ACT I. 

Mary. 

Sa3^st thou? 

NOAILLES. 

A very wanton life indeed (smiling) . 

Mary. 

Your audience is concluded, sir. [_Exit Noailles. 

You cannot 
Learn a man's nature from his natural foe. 

Enter Usher. 
Who waits ? 

Usher. 

The ambassador of Spain, 3^our Grace. 

\_Exit, 

Enter Simon Renard. 

Mary. 

Thou art ever welcome, Simon Renard. Hast 
thou 

Brought me the letter which thine Emperor prom- 
ised 

Long since, a formal offer of the hand 

Of Philip ? 

Renard. 

Nay, your Grace, it hath not reach'd me'. 
I know not wherefore — some mischance of flood, 



SCENE v.] QUEEN MARY. 55 

And broken bridge, or spavin'd horse, or wave 
And wind at their old battle ; he must have 
written. 

Mary. 

But Philip never writes me one poor word. 
Which in his absence had been all my wealth. 
Strange in a wooer ! 

Renard. 

Yet I know the Prince, 
So }'our king-parliament suffer him to land. 
Yearns to set foot upon your island shore. 

Mary. 

God change the pebble which his kingly foot 
First presses into some more costly stone 
Than ever blinded eye. I'll have one mark it 
And bring it me. I'll have it burnish'd firelike ; 
I'll set it round with gold, with pearl, with dia- 
mond. 
Let the great angel of the church come with him ; 
Stand on the deck and spread his wings for sail ! 
God lay the waves and strew the storms at sea. 
And here at land among the people. O Renard, 
I am much beset, I am almost in despair. 
Paget is ours. Gardiner perchance is ours ; 
But for our heretic Parliament — 



56 QUEEN MARY. [ACT I. 

Eenard. 

O Madam, 
You fly your thoughts like kites. My master, 

Charles, 
Bade 3^ou go softly with your heretics here. 
Until 3'our throne had ceased to tremble. Then 
Spit them like larks for aught I care. Besides, 
When Henr}^ broke the carcass of 3'our church 
To pieces, there were many wolves among 3'ou 
Who dragg'd the scattered limbs into their den. 
The Pope would have you make them render 

these ; 
So would your cousin. Cardinal Pole ; ill counsel ! 
These let them keep at present ; stir not yet 
This matter of the Church lands. At his coming 
Your star will rise. 

Mary. 

My star ! a baleful one. 

I see but the black night, and hear the wolf. 

What star? 

Renard. 

Your star will be 3^our princely son, 
Heir of this England and the Netherlands ! 
And if your wolf the while should howl for more 
We'll dust him from a bag of Spanish gold. 
I do believe, I have dusted some already, 
That, soon or late, your parliament is ours. 



SCENE v.] QUEEJSr MARY. 57 

Mary. 

Why do they talk so foullj^ of your Prince, 
Renard ? 

Renard. 

The lot of princes. To sit high 
Is to be lied about. 

Mary. 

They call him cold, 
Haughty, ay, worse. 

Renard. 

Why, doubtless, Philip shows 
Some of the bearing of your blue blood — still 
All within measure — nay, it well becomes him. 

Mary. 

Hath he the large ability of his father? ' 

Renard. 
Nay, some believe that he will go beyond him. 

Mary. 

Is this like him ? 

Renard. 

Ay, somewhat ; but your Philip 
Is the most princelike Prince beneath the sun. 
This is a daub to Philip. 



68 QUEEN MARY. [ACT I. 

Mary. 

Of a pure life ? 

Renard. 

As an angel among angels. Yea, by Heaven, 
The text — Your Highness knows it, ' ' Whosoever 
Looketh after a woman," would not graze 
The Prince of Spain. You are happy in him there. 
Chaste as your grace ! 

Mary. 

I am happy in him there. 

Renard. 

And w^ould be altogether happy, Madam, 
So that 3^our sister were but look'd to closer. 
You have sent her from the court, but then she 

goes, 
I warrant, not to hear the nightingales, 
But hatch you some new treason in the woods. 

Mary. 

We have our spies abroad to catch her tripping. 
And then if caught, to the Tower. 

Renard. 

The Tower ! the block. 



SCENE v.] QUEEN MAKY. 59 

The word has turn'd your Highness pale ; the 

thing 
Was no such scarecrow in your father's time. 
I have heard, the tongue yet quiver' d with the jest 
When the head leapt — so common ! I do think 
To save your crown that it must come to this. 

Mary. 

I love her not, but all the people love her. 
And would not have her even to the Tower. 

Renard. 

Not yet ; but your old Traitors of the Tower — 
Why, when you put Northumberland to death. 
The sentence having past upon them all. 
Spared 3^ou the Duke of Suffolk, Guilford Dudle^^, 
Ev'n that young girl who dared to wear your 
crown ? 

Mary. 

Dared, no, not that ; the child obey'd her father. 
Spite of her tears her father forced it on her. 

Renard. 

Good Madam, when the Roman wish'd to reign, 
He slew not him alone who wore the purple, 
But his assessor in the throne, perchance 
A child more innocent than Lady Jane. 



60 QUEEN MARY. [ACT I. 

Mary. 
I am English Queen, not Roman Emperor. 

Renard. 

Yet too much merc}^ is a want of merc}^, 
And wastes more life. Stamp out the fire, or this 
Will smoulder and re-flame, and burn the throne 
Where you should sit with Philip : he will not 

come 
Till she be gone. 

Mary. 

Indeed, if that were true — 
But I must sa}^ farewell. I am somewhat faint 
With our long talk. Tho' Queen, I am not Queen 
Of mine own heart, which every now and then 
Beats me half dead : yet staj^, this golden chain — 
My father on a birthday gave it me. 
And I have broken with my father — take 
And wear it as memorial of a morning 
Which found me full of foolish . doubts, and 

leaves me 
As hopeful. 

Renard (aside). 

Whew — the folly of all follies 
Is to be love- sick for a shadow. (Aloud) Madam, 
This chains me to your service, not with gold. 
But dearest links of love. Farewell, and trust me, 
Philip is 3^ours. lExit. 



SCENE v.] QUEEN MAKY. 61 

Mary. 

Mine — but not yet all mine. 
Enter Usher. 

Usher. 
Your Coancil is in Session, please your Majest3\ 

Mary. 

Sir, let them sit. I must have time to breathe. 
No, say I come. {Exit Usher.) I won b}^ bold- 
ness once. 
The Emperor counselFd me to % to Flanders. 
I would not ; but a hundred miles I rode, 
Sent out my letters, call'd m}' friends together, 
Struck homo and won. 
And when the Council would not crown me — 

thought 
To bind me first by oaths I could not keep. 
And keep with Christ and conscience — was it 

boldness 
Or weakness that won there? when I their Queen, 
Cast myself down upon my knees before them, 
And those hard men brake into woman tears, 
Ev'n Gardiner, all amazed, and in that passion 
Gave me my Crown. 

Enter Alice. 

Girl ; hast thou ever hoard 
Slanders against Princo Phili[) in our Court? 




62 qixee:^^ mahy. [act i. 

Alice. 
What slanders ? I, your Grace ; no, never. 

Mary. 

Nothing ? 
Alice, 

Never, 3'Our Grace. 

Mary. 
See that 3'ou neither hear them nor repeat ! 

Alice {aside). 

Good Lord ! but I have heard a thousand such. 
Ay, and repeated them as often — mum ! 
Wh}^ comes that old fox-Fleming back again? 

Enter Renard. 

Renard. 

Madam, I scarce had left 3 our Grace's presence 

Before I chanced upon the messenger 

Who brings that letter which we waited for — 

The formal offer of Prince Philip's hand. 

It craves an instant answer. Ay or No? 

Mary. 

An instant, A3' or No ! the Council sits. 
Give it me quick. 



SCENE v.] QUEEN MARY. 63 

Alice {stepping before her) . 

Your Highness is all trembling. 

Mary. 

Make way. \_Exit into the Council Chamber. 

Alice. 

O, Master Renarcl, Master Renard, 
If 3^011 have falsely painted 3^oiir fine Prince ; 
Praised, where 3^ou should have blamed him, I 

pray God 
No woman ever love 3"ou, Master Renard. 
It breaks my heart to hear her moan at night 
As tho' the nightmare never left her bed. 

Renard. 

My pretty maiden, tell me, did 3'ou ever 
Sigh for a beard ? 

Alice. 

That's not a prett}^ question. 
Renard. 

Not prettily put? I mean, my pretty maiden, 
A pretty man for such a pretty maiden. 

Alice. 
My Lord of Devon is a pretty man. 
I hate him. Well, but if I liave, what then? 



64 QUEEN MARY. [ACT I. 

Renard. 

Then, pretty maiden, you should know that 

whether 
A wind be warm or cold, it serves to fan 
A kindled iSre. 

Alice. 

According to the song. 

"His friends would praise him, I believed 'em, 
His foes would blame liim, and I scorned 'em, 
His friends — as Angels 1 received 'em, 
His foes — The Devil had suborn'd 'em." 

Renard. 

Peace, pretty maiden. 

I hear them stirring in the Council Chamber. 

Lord Paget' s " Ay " is sure — who else ? and 3^et, 

The}' are all too much at odds to close at once 

In one full throated No ! Her Highness comes. 

Enter Mary. 

Alice. 
How deathly pale ! — a chair, your Highness. 

\_BTinging one to the Queen. 



The Council? 



Renard. 

MadamJ" 

Mary. 

Ay ! My Philip is all mine. 
\_Sinks into chair, half fainting. 



SCENE I.] QUEEN MARY. 65 

ACT II. 

SCENE I. — ALLINGTON CASTLE. 

Sir Thomas Wyatt. 

I do not hear from Carew or the Duke 
Of Suffolk, and till then I should not move. 
The Duke hath gone to Leicester ; Carew stirs 
In Devon : that fine porcelain Courtenay, 
Save that he fears he might be crack'd in using, 
(I have known a semi-madman in my time 
So fancy-ridd'n) should be in Devon too. 

Enter William. 
News abroad, William ? 

William. 

None so new, Sir Thomas, and none so old, 
Sh' Thomas. No new news that Philip comes to 
wed Mary, no old news that all men hate it. 
Old Sir Thomas would have hated it. The bells 
are ringing at Maidstone. Doesn't your worship 
hear? 

Wyatt. 



k 



Ay, for the Saints are come to reign again. 
Most like it is a Saint's-dav. There's no call 



66 QUEEN MAE-Y. [ACT n. 

As yet for me ; so in this pause, before 
Tlie mine be fired, it were a pious work 
To string m}^ father's sonnets, left about 
Like looselj'-scatter'd jewels, in fair order, 
And head them with a lamer rhj^me of mine, 
To grace his memor3\ 

William. 
Ay, w^hy not. Sir Thomas? He was a fine 
courtier, he ; Qaeen Anne loved him. All the 
women loved him. I loved him, I was in Spain 
with him. I couldn't eat in Spain, I couldn't 
sleep in Spain. I hate Spain, Sir Thomas. 

Wyatt. 
But thou couldst drink in Spain if I remember. 

William. 
Sir Thomas, we ma}^ grant the wine. Old Sir 
Thomas always granted the wine. 

W^YATT. 

Hand me the casket with my father's sonnets. 
William. 
Ay — sonnets — a fine courtier of the old 
Court, old Sir Thomas. lExit. 

Wyatt. 
Courtier of many courts, he loved the more 



SCENE I.] QUEEN MARY. 67 

His own gray towers, plain life and letter'd peace, 
To read and rhyme in solitary fields, 
The lark above, the nightingale below, 
And answer them in song. The Sire begets 
Not half his likeness in the son. I fail 
Where he was fullest : 3'et — to write it down. 

\^He writes. 
Re-enter William. 

William. 
There is news, there is news, and no call for 
sonnet-sorting now, nor for sonnet-making 
either, but ten thousand men on Penenden Heath 
all calling after 3'our worship, and 3'our worship's 
name heard into Maidstone market, and 3'oin' 
w^orship the first man in Kent and Christendom, 
for the world's up, and your worship a- top of it. 

Wyatt. 
Inverted ^sop — mountain out of mouse. 
Say for ten thousand ten — and pothouse knaves, 
Brain-dizzied witli a draught of morning ale. 
Enter Antony Knyvett. 

William. 
Here's Anton}^ Knyvett. 

Knyvett. 

Look you. Master Wyatt, 
Tear up that woman's work there. 



68 QUEEK MARY. [ACT II. 

Wyatt. 

No ; not these. 
Dumb children of my father, that will speak 
When I and thou and all rebellions lie 
Dead bodies without voice. Song flies j'ou know 
For ages. 

KVYVETT. 

Tut, your sonnet's a flymg ant, 
Wing'd for a moment. 

Wtatt. 

Well, for mine own work [tearing the ^operl, 
It lies there in six pieces at your feet ; 
For all that I can carry it in my head. 

Knyvett. 
If j^ou can carry your head upon your shoulders. 

Wyatt. 

I fear you come to carry it off my shoulders, 
And sonnet-making's safer. 

Knyvett. 

Wh}^ good Lord, 
Write 5"0U as many sonnets as you will. 
A}^ but not now ; what, have 3'ou e3'es, ears, 
brains? 



SCENE I.] QUEEN MARY. 



69 



This Philip and the black-faced swarms of Spain, 

The hardest, cruellest people in the world, 

Come locusting upon us, eat us up. 

Confiscate lands, goods, money — Wj^att, Wyatt, 

Wake, or the stout old island will become 

A rotten limb of Spain. They roar for you 

On Penenden Heath, a thousand of them — 

more — 
All arm'd, waiting a leader ; there's no glory 
Like his who saves his country : and j' on sit 
Sing-songing here ; but, if I'm any judge, 
By God, you are as poor a poet, Wj^att, 
As a good soldier. 

Wyatt. 

You as poor a critic 
As an honest friend : you stroke me on one 

cheek. 
Buffet the other. Come, you bluster, Antony ! 
You know I know all this. I must not move 
Until I hear from Carew and the Duke. 
I fear the mine is lired before the time. 

Knyvett (showing a paper) . 
But here's some Hebrew. Faith, I half forgot it. 
Look ; can 3^ou make it English ? A strange 

youth 
Suddenly thrust it on me, whisper'd, '' Wyatl," 
And whisking round a corner, show'd his back 
Before I read his face. 



70 QUEEN MARY. [ACT H. 

Wyatt. 

Ha ! Courtenay's cipher. [^Beads. 

'' Sir Peter Carew fled to France : it is thought 
the Duke will be taken. I am with you still; 
but, for appearance' sake, sta}^ with the Queen. 
Gardiner knows, but the Council are all at odds, 
and the Queen hath no force for resistance. 
Move, if you move, at once." 

Is Peter Carew fled ? Is the Duke taken ? 

Down scabbard, and out sword ! and let Rebel- 
lion 

Roar till throne rock, and crown fall. No ; not 
that ; 

But we will teach Queen Mary how to reign. 

Who are those that shout below there ? 

Knyvett. 

Why, some fifty 
That followed me from Penenden Heath in hope 
To hear j^ou speak. 

Wyatt. 

Open the window, Kn;y'vett ; 
The mme is fired, and I will speak to them. 

Men of Kent ; England of England ; you that 
have kept your old customs upright, while all the 



SCENE I.] QUEEN MARY. 71 

rest of EiiglancT bow'cl theirs to the Norman, the 
cause that hath brought us together is not the 
cause of a count}^ or a shire, but of this England, 
in whose crown our Kent is the fairest jewel. 
Philip shall not wed Mary ; and ye have called 
me to be your leader. I know Spain. I have 
been there with my father ; I have seen them in 
their own land ; have marked the haughtiness of 
their nobles ; the cruelty of their priests. If 
this man marr}^ our Queen, however the Council 
and the Commons ma}' fence round his power 
with restriction, he will be King, King of Eng- 
land, my masters ; and the Queen, and the laws, 
and the people, his slaves. What? shall we 
have Spain on the throne and in the parliament ; 
Spain in the pulpit and on the law-bench ; Spain 
in all the great offices of state ; Spain in our 
ships, in out- forts, in our houses, in om* beds? 

Crowd. 
No ! no ! no Spain. 

William. 

No Spain in our beds — that were worse than 
all. I have been there with old Sir Thomas, 
and the beds I know. I hate Spain. 

A Peasant. 
But, Sir Thomas, must we levy war against 
the Queen's Grace? 



72 QUEEN MAHY. [ACT II. 

Wyatt. 

No, my friend ; war for the Queen's Grace — to 
save her from herself and Philip — war against 
Spain. And think not we shall be alone — thou- 
sands will flock to us. The Council, the Court it- 
self, is on our side. The Lord Chancellor himself 
is on our side. The King of France is with us ; the 
King of Denmark is with us ; the world is with us — 
war against Spain ! And if we move not now, 
3'et it will be known that w^e have moved ; and if 
Philip come to be King, O, my God ! the rope, 
the rack, the thumb-screw, the stake, the fire. 
If we move not now, Spain moves, bribes our 
nobles with her gold, and creeps, creeps snake- 
like about our legs till we cannot move at all ; 
and ye know, my masters, that wherever Spain 
hath ruled she hath wither'd all beneath her. 
Look at the New World — a paradise made hell ; 
the red man, that good helpless creature, starved, 
maim'd, flogg'd, flay'd, burn'd, boil'd, buried 
alive, worried by dogs ; and here, nearer home, 
the Netherlands, Sicily, Naples, Lombardy. I 
say no more — only this, their lot is yours. For- 
ward to London with me I forward to London ! 
If ye love 3"0ur liberties or your skins, forward to 
London ! 

Crowd. 

Forward to London ! A Wyatt ! a Wyatt ! 



SCENE I.] 



QUEEN MARY. 
Wyatt. 



73 



But first to Rochester, to take the guns 
From out the vessels Ij^ing in the river. 
Then on. 

A Peasant. 

A}^, but I fear we be too few, Sir Thr 

Wyatt. 

Not man}^ yet. The world as yet, my friend, 
Is not half-waked ; but every parish tower 
Shall clang and clash alarum as we pass. 
And pour along the land, and swolFn and fed 
With indraughts and side-currents, in full force 
Roll upon London. 

Crowd. 

A Wyatt ! a Wyatt ! Forward I 

Knyvett. 
Wyatt, shall we proclaim Elizabeth ? 

Wyatt. 
I'll think upon it, Knj^vett. 

Knyvett. 

Or Lady Jane ? 

Wyatt. 
No. poor soul ; no. 



74 



QUEEN MAKY. 



[act II. 



Ah, gray old castle of Allington, green field 
Beside thebrimming Medwa}' , it may chance 
That I shall never look upon you more. 

Knyvett. 
Come, now, you're sonnetting again. 

Wyatt. 

Not I. 
I'll have my head set higher in the state ; 
Or — if the Lord God will it — on the stake. 

[_Exeunt. 



SCENE II. — GUILDHALL. 



Sir Thomas White (The Lord Mayor), Lord 
William Howard, Sir Ralph Bagenhall, * 
Aldermen and Citizens. 

White. 
I trust the Queen comes hither with her guards. 

Howard. . 
Ay, all in arms. 

[^Several of the Citizens move hastily out of the hall. 
Why do they hurry out there ? 



SCENE I.] QUEEN MAKY. 75 

White. 

My Lord, cut out the rotten from 3'our apple, 
Your apple eats the better. Let them go. 
They go like those old Pharisees in John 
Convicted by their conscience, arrant cowards. 
Or tamperers with that treason out of Kent. 
When will her Grace be here ? 

Howard. 

In some few minutes. 
She will address 3'our guilds and companies. 
I have striven in vain to raise a man for her. 
But help her. in this exigency, make 
Your city loyal, and be the mightiest man 
This day in England. 

White. 

I am Thomas White. 
Few things have faiFd to which I set my will. 
I do my most and best. 

Howard. 

You know that after 
The Captain Brett, who went with your train 

bands 
To light with Wyatt, had gone over to him 
With all his men, the Queen in that distress 
Sent Cornwallis and Hastings to the traitor, 



76 QUEEN MARY. [ACT U. 

Feigning to treat with him about her marriage — 
Know too what Wjatt said. 

White. 

He'd sooner be, 
While this same marriage question was being 

argued, 
Trusted than trust — the scoundrel — and de- 
manded 
Possession of her person and the Tower. 

Howard. 
And four of her poor Council too, m}^ Lord, 
As hostages. 

White. 

I know it. What do and say 
Your Council at this hour ? 

Howard. 

I will trust YOU. 
We fling ourselves on you, m}" Lord. The Council, 
The Parliament as well, are troubled waters ; 
And yet like w^aters of the fen they know not 
Which way to flow. All hangs on her address, 
And upon you. Lord Mayor. 

White. 

How look'd the city 
When now yuu past it ? Quiet ? 



SCENE II.] QUEEN MABY. 77 

Howard. 

Like our Council, 
Your city is divided. As we past, 
Some haird, some hiss'd us. There were citizens 
Stood each before his shut-up booth, and look'd 
As grim and grave as from a funeral. 
And here a knot of ruffians all in rags. 
With execrating execrable eyes, 
Glared at the citizen. Here was a young mother, 
Her face on flame, her red hair all blown back. 
She shrilling '' Wyatt,'* while the boy she held 
Mimick'd and piped her '' W3^att," as red as she 
In hair and cheek ; and almost elbowing her. 
So close they stood, another, mute as death. 
And white as her own milk ; her babe in arms 
Had felt the faltering of his mother's heart, 
And look'd as bloodless. Here a pious Catholic, 
Mumbling and mixing up in his scared pra3^ers 
Heaven and earth's Maries ; over his bow'd shoul- 
der 
Scowl'd that Vvorld-hated and world-hating beast, 
A haggard Anabaptist. Many such groups. 
The names of Wyatt, Elizabeth, Courtenay, 
Nay the Queen's right to reign — 'fore God, the 

rogues — 
Were freely buzz'd among them. So I say 
Your city is divided, and I fear 
One scruple, this or that way, of succecs 



4 



78 



QUEEN MARY. 



[act II. 



Would turn it thither. Wherefore now the Queen 
In this low pulse and pals}^ of the state, 
Bade me to tell jou that she counts on you 
And on m3'self as her two hands ; on jou^ 
In your own city, as her right, iny Lord, 
For 3^ou are loyal. 

AYhite. 

Am I Thomas White ? 
One word before she comes. Elizabeth — 
Her name is much abused among these traitors. 
Where is she ? She is loved by all of us. 
I scarce have heart to mingle in this matter. 
If she should be mishandled ? 

Howard. 

No ; she shall not. 
The Queen had written her word to come to court : 
Methought I smelt out Eenard in the letter, 
And fearing for her, sent a secret missive. 
Which told her to be sick. . Happily or not, 
It found her sick indeed. 

White. 

God send her well ; 
Here comes her Royal Grace. 
Enter Guards, Mary, and Gardiner. Sir 

Thomas White leads her to a raised seat 

on the -dais. 



SCENE II.] QUEEN MAKY. 79 

White. 

I, the Lord Mayor, and these our companies 
And guilds of London, gathered here, beseech 
Your Highness to accept our lowliest thanks 
For your most princely presence ; and we pray 
That we, your true and loyal citizens. 
From your own royal lips, at once may know 
The wherefore of this coming, and so learn 
Your Royal will, and do it. — 1, Lord Ma^^or 
Of London, and our Guilds and Companies. 

Mary. 

In mine own person am I come to you, 
To tell you what indeed ye see and know. 
How traitorously these rebels out of Kent 
Have made strong head against ourselves and jou. 
They would not have me wed the Prince of Spain ; 
That was their pretext — so they spake at first — 
Bat we sent divers of our Council to them, 
And by their answers*to the question ask'd, 
It doth appear this marriage is the least 
Of all their quarrel. 

They have betrayed the treason of then- hearts : 
Seek' to possess our person, hold our Tower, 
Place and displace our councillors, and use 
Both us and them according as they will. 
Now what am I 3'e know right well — your Queen ; 



80 QUEEN MARY. [ACT Ii. 

To v/hom, when I was wedded to the realm 

And the realm's laws (the spousal ring whereof, 

Kot ever to be laid aside, I wear 

Upon this finger) , ye did promise full 

Allegiance and obedience to the death. 

Ye know m}' father was the rightful heir 

Of England, and his right came down to me, 

Corroborate by yoar acts of Parliament : 

And as je were most loving unto him, 

So doubtless will 3^e show ^^ourselves to me. 

Wherefore, ye will not brook that any one 

Should seize our person, occupy our state, 

More specialty a traitor so presumptuous 

As this same W^^att, vvho hath tamper' d with 

A public ignorance, and, under color 

Of such a cause as hath no color, seeks 

To bend the laws to his own will, and yield 

Full scope to persons rascal and forlorn. 

To make free spoil and havoc of 3^our goods. 

Now as 3'our Prince, I say, , 

I, that was never mother, cannot tell 

How mothers love their children ; yet, methinks, 

A prince as naturally may love his people 

As these their children ; and be sure 3'our Queen 

So loves you, and so loving, needs must deem 

This love by you returned as heartily : 

And thro' this common knot and bond of love, 

Doubt not they will be speedily overthrown. 



SCEKE II.] QUEEN MARY. 81 

As to this marriage, ye shall underst£fnd 

We made thereto no treaty of ourselves, 

And set no foot theretoward unadvised 

Of all our Privy Council ; furthermore. 

This marriage had the assent of those to whom 

Tiie king, my father, did commit his trust ; 

Who not alone esteem' d it honorable. 

But for the wealth and glorj^ of our realm. 

And all our loving subjects, most expedient. 

As to myself, 

I am not so set on wedlock as to choose 

But where I list, nor yet so amorous 

That I must needs be husbanded ; I thank God, 

I have lived a virgin, and I nowa}^ doubt 

But that with God's grace, I can live so still. 

Yet if it might please God that I should leave 

Some fruit of mine own body after me, 

To be your king, ye would rejoice thereat. 

And it would be 3'our comfort, as I trust ; 

And truly, if I either thought or knew 

This marriage should bring loss or danger to you, 

My subjects, or impair in au}'^ way 

This royal state of England, I would never 

Consent thereto, nor marry while I live ; 

Moreover, if this marriage should not seem. 

Before our own high Court of Parliament, 

To be of rich advantage to our realm, 

We will refrain, and not alone from this, 



82 QUEEN MARY. [ACT II. 

Likewise from any other, out of which 
Looms the least chance of peril to our realm. 
Wherefore be bold, and with your lawful Prince 
Stand fast against our enemies and 3'ours, 
And fear them not. I fear them not. M}^ Lord, 
I leave Lord William Howard in your city. 
To guard and keep 3'ou whole and safe from all 
The spoil and sackage aim'd at by these rebels. 
Who mouth and foam against the Prince of Spain. 

Voices. 
Long live Queen Mary ! 

Down with Wyatt ! 

The Queen ! 
White. 

Three voices from our guilds and companies ! 
You are sh}^ and proud like Englislimen, my 

masters. 
And will not trust 3^our voices. Understand : 
Your lawful Prince hath come to cast herself 
On loyal hearts and bosoms, hoped to fall 
Into the wide-spread arms of fealty, 
And finds you statues. Speak at once — and all ! 
For whom ? 

Our sovereign Lad}^ by King Hany's will ; 
The Queen of England — or the Kentish Squire ? 
I know you loyal. Speak ! in the name of God ! 
The Queen of England or the rabble of Kent? 



3 



SCENE n.] QUEEN MARY. 83 

The reeking dungfork master of the mace ! 
Your havings wasted b}' the scj'the and spade — 
Your rights and charters hobnaiFd into skish — 
Your houses fired — 3^our gutters bubbling 
blood — 

Acclamation". 
No ! No ! The Queen ! the Queen ! 

White. 

Your Highness hears 
This burst and bass of loyal harmonj^ 
And how we each and all of us abhor 
The venomous, bestial, devilish revolt 
Of Thomas Wj^att. Hear us now make oath 
To raise your Highness thirty thousand men, 
And arm and strike as with one hand, and brush 
This Wyatt from our shoulders, like a flea 
That might have leapt upon us unawares. 
Swear with me, noble fellow-citizens, all. 
With all your trades, and guilds, and companies. 

Citizens. 
We swear ! 

Mary. 

We thank your Lordship and your loyal cit}-. 

^Exit Mary attended. 



84 QUEE:tT MARY. [act H. 

White. 

I trust this day, thro' God, I have saved the 
crown. 

First Alderman. 

Ay, so my Lord of Pembroke in command 
Of all her force be safe ; but there are doubts. 

Second Alderman. 

I hear that Gardiner, coming with the Queen, 
And meeting Pembroke, bent to his saddle-bjow, 
As if to win the man by flattering him. 
Is he so safe to fight upon her side ? 

First Alderman. 
If not, there's no man safe. 

White. 

Yes, Thomas White. 
I am safe enough : no man need flatter me. 

Second Alderman. 
Nay, no man need ; but did you mark our Queen? 
The color freely play'd into her face. 
And the half sight which makes her look so 

stern, 
Seem'd thro' that dim dilated w^orld of hers, 
To read our faces ; I have never seen her 
So queenly or so goodly. 



SCENE II.] QUEEN MARY. 85 

White. 

Courage, sir, 
That makes or man or woman look their goodliest. 
Die like the torn fox dumb, but never whine 
Like that poor heart, Northumberland, at the 
block. 

Bagenhall. 

The man had children, and he whined for those. 

Methinks most men are but poor-hearted, else 

Should we so doat on courage, were it com- 
moner ? 

The Queen stands up, and speaks for her own 
self; 

And all men cr^', she is queenly, she is goodl}'. 

Yet she's no goodlier ; tho' my Lord Mayor 
here. 

By his own rule, he hath been so bold to-da}', 

Should look more goodl}' than the rest of us. 

White. 

Goodly? I feel most goodly heart and hand, 
And strong to throw ten Wyatts and all Kent. 
Ila ! ha ! sir ; but you jest ; I love it : a jest 
In time of danger shows the pulses even. 
Be merry ! yet, Sir Ralph, you look but sad. 
I dare avouch you'd stand up for yourself, 
Tho' all the world should bay like winter wolves. 



86 QUEEN MARY. [ACT n. 

Bagenhall. 
Who knows ? the man is proven by the hour. 

White. 

The man should make the hour, not this the 

man ; 
And Thomas White will prove this Thomas Wy- 

. att, 
And he will prove an Iden to this Cade, 
And he will play the Walworth to this Wat ; 
Come, sirs, we prate ; hence all — gather 3'our 

men — 
Myself must bustle. W^^att comes to South- 

wark ; 
I'll have the drawbridge hewn into the Thames, 
And see the citizen arm'd. Good day; good 

da3^ \_Exit White. 

Bagenhall. 
One of much outdoor bluster. 

Howard. 

For all that, 
Most honest, brave, and skilful ; and his wealth 
A fountain of perennial alms — his fault 
So thoroughly to believe in his own self. 

Bagenhall. 
Yet thoroughly to believe in one's own self, 



SCENE II.] QUEEN MABY. 87 

So one's own self be thorough, were to do 
Great things, my lord. 

Howard. 

It may be. 

Bageniiall. 

I have heard 
One of your council fleer and jeer at him. 

Howard. 

The nurserj'-cocker'd child will jeer at aught 
That may seem strange bej^ond his nurser}'. 
The statesman that shall jeer and fleer at men. 
Makes enemies for himself and for his Idng ; 
And if he jeer not seeing the true man 
Behind his folly, he is thrice the fool ; 
And if he see the man and still will jeer, 
He is child and fool, and traitor to the State. 
Who is he ? Let me shun him. 

Bagenhall. 

Nay, my Lord, 
He is damn'd enough already. 

Howard. 

I must set 
The guard at Ludgate. Fare you well. Sir 
Ralph. 



88 QUEEN MARY. [ACT H. 

Bagenhall. 
'^ Who knows?" I am for England. But who 

knows, 
That knows the Qneen, the Spaniard, and the 

Pope, 
Whether I be for Wyatt, or the Queen ? \^Exeunt. 



SCENE III. — LONDON BRIDGE. 

Enter Sir Thomas Wyatt and Brett. 

Wyatt. 
Brett, when the Duke of Norfolk moved against 

us 
Thou criedst " a Wyatt," and fl3'ing to our side 
Left his all bare, for which I love thee, Brett. 
Have for thine asking aught that I can give. 
For thi'o' thine help we are come to London 

Bridge ; 
But how to cross it balks me. I fear we cannot. 

Brett. 
Nay, hardly, save by boat, swimming, or wings. 

Wyatt. 
Last night I climb' d into the gate-house, Brett, 



SCENE III.] QUEEN MARY. 89 

And scared the gray old porter and his wife. 
And then I crept along the gloom and saw 
The}' had hewn the drawbridge down into the 

river. 
It roU'd as black as death ; and that same tide 
Which, coming with our coming, seem'd to smile 
And sparkle like our fortune as thou saidest, 
Kan sunless down, and moan'd against the piers. 
But o'er the chasm I saw Lord William Howard 
By torchlight, and his guard ; four guns gaped at 

me, 
Black, silent mouths : had Howard spied me 

there 
And made them speak, as well he might have 

done. 
Their voice had left me none to tell you this. 
What shall we do ? 

Brett. 
On somehow. To go back 



Were to lose all. 



Wyatt. 



On over London Bridge 
We cannot: stay we cannot; ihre is ordnance 
On the White Tower and on the Devil's Tower, 
And pointed full at Southwark ; we must round 
By Kingston Bridge. 



90 QUEEN MABY. [ACT IT. 

Brett. 
Ten miles about. 

Wyatt. 

Ev'n so. 
But I have noticed from our partisans 
Within the city that thej will stand by us 
If Ludgate can be reach'd by dawn to-morrow. 

Enter one of Wyatt 's men, 

Man. 

Sir Thomas, I've found this paper, pray 3'our 
worship read it ; I know not my letters ; the old 
priests taught me nothing. 

Wyatt {reads) . 

" Whosoever will apprehend the traitor Thom- 
as Wyatt shall have a hundred pounds for 
reward." 

Man. 

Is that it? That's a big lot of money. 

Wyatt. 

Ay, a}', my friend ; not read it? 'tis not written 
Half plain enough. Give mo a piece of paper ! 

[ Writes '' Thomas Wyatt " large. 
There, any man can read that. \_Sticks it in his cap. 



SCENE ni.] QUEEN MARY. 91 

Brett. 

But that's foolharcl3\ 

Wyatt. 

No ! boldness, which will give nij followers bold- 
ness. 

Enter Man ivitli a prisoner, 

Man. 

We found him, your worship, a plundering o' 
Bishop Winchester's house ; he saj^s he's a poor 
gentleman. 

Wyatt. 

Gentleman, a thief! Go hang him. Shall we 

make 
Those that we come to serve our sharpest foes ? 

Brett. 

Sir Thomas — 

Wyatt. 

Hang him, I say. 

Brett. 
Wyatt, but now you promised me a boon. 

Wyatt. 
Ay, and I warrant this fine fellow's life. 



92 QUEEN MARY. [ACT II. 

Brett. 
Ev'n so ; he was my neighbor- once in Kent. 
He's poor enough, has drunk and gambled out 
All that he had, and gentleman he was. 
We have been glad together ; let him live. 

Wyatt. 

He has gambled for his life, and lost, he hangs. 
No, no, my word's my word. Take thy poor 

gentleman ! 
Gamble th3^self at once out of my sight, 
Or I will dig thee with my dagger. Away ! 
Women and children ! 

Enter a Crowd 0/ Women and Children. 

First Woman. 
O Sir Thomas, Sir Thomas, pray jow go awaj^ 
Sir Thomas, or 3'ou'll make the White Towner a 
black 'un for us this blessed da}^ He'll be the 
death on us ; and you'll set the Divil's Tower 
a-spitting, and he'll smash all our bits o' things 
worse than Philip o' Spain. 

Second Woman. 
Don't ye now go to think that we be for Philip 

o' Spain. 

Third Woman. 

No, we know that ye be come to kill the Queen, 



SCENE lY.] QUEEN MAHY. 93 

and we'll pray for you all on our bended knees. 
But o' God's mercy don't ye kill the Queen here, 
Sir Thomas ; look ye, here's little Dickon, and 
little Kobin, and little Jenny — though she's buo 
a sidc^.-cousin — and all on our knees, we pray 
you to kill the Queen farther off, Sir Thomas. 

Wyatt. 
My friends, I have not come to kill the Queen 
Or here or there : I come to save you all, 
And I'll go farther off. 

Crowd. 
Thanks, Sir Thomas, we be beholden to you, 
and we'll pray for you on our bended knees till 
our lives' end. 

Wyatt. 

Be happy, I am your friend. 

To Kingston, forward ! 
[^Exeunt, 



SCENE IV. — ROOM IN THE GATEHOUSE 
OF WESTMINSTER PALACE. 

Mary, Alice, Gardiner, Renard, Ladies. 

Alice. 
O madam, if Lord Pembroke should be false? 



94 QUEE:tT MARY. [ACT 11. 

Mary. 

No, girl ; most brave and lo^^al, brave and lo^^al. 

His breaking with Northumberland broke North- 
umberland. 

At the park gate he hovers with our guards. 

These Kentish ploughmen cannot break the 
guards. 

Enter Messenger. 

Messenger. 
Wyatt, your Grace, hath broken thro' the guards 
And gone to Ludgate. 

Gardiner. 

Madam, I much fear 
That all is lost ; but we can save your Grace. 
The river still is free. I do beseech you, 
There yet is time, take boat and pass to Windsor. 

Mary. 
I pass to Windsor and I lose my crown. 

Gardiner. 
Pass, then, I pray your Highness, to the Tower. 

Mary. 

I shall but be their prisoner in the Tower. 

Cries ivitJiout. 
The traitor ! treason ! Pembroke ! 



SCENE IV.] QUEEN MARY. 96 

Ladies. 

Treason ! treason ! 
Mary. 
Peace. 

False to Northumberland, is he false to me? 
Bear witness, Renarcl, that I live and die 
The true and faithful bride of Philip — A sound 
Of feet and voices thickening hither — blows — 
Hark, there is battle at the palace gates, 
And I will out upon the gallery. 

Ladies. 
No, no, your Grace ; see there the arrows flying. 

Mary. 
I am Harry's daughter, Tudor, and not fear. 

[_Goes out on the gallery. 
The guards are all driven in, skulk into corners 
Like rabbits to their holes. A gracious guard 
Truly ; shame on them they have shut the gates ! 
Enter Sir Robert Southwell. 

Southwell. 
The porter, please 3^our Grace, hath shut the 

gates 
On friend and foe. Your gentlemen-at-arms, 
If this be not your Grace's order, cry 
To have the gates set wide again, and they 
With their good battle-axes will do you right 
Against all traitors. 



J 



96 QUEEN MARY, [ACT H. 

Mary. 

They are the flower of England ; set the gates 
wide. \_Exit Southwell. 

Enter Courtenay. 

COURTENAY. 

All lost, all lost, all ^delded ; a barge, a barge, 
The Queen must to the Tower. 

Mary. 

Whence come you, sir? 

Courtenay. 
From Charing Cross ; the rebels broke us there, 
And I sped hither with what haste I might 
To save my royal cousin. 

Mary. 

Where is Pembroke ? 

Courtenay. 
I left him somewhere in the thick of it. 

Mary. 

Left him and fled ; and thou that wouldst be 

King, 
And hast nor heart nor honor. I myself 
Will down into the battle and there bide 



SCENE IV.] QUEEN MARY. 97 

The upshot of m}^ quarrel, or die with those 
That are no cowards and no Courtenays. 

COURTENAY. 

I do not love 3^our Grace should call me coward. 
Enter another Messenger. 

Messenger. 

Over, your Grace, all crush' d ; the brave Lord 

William 
Thrust him from Ludgate, and the traitor fljing 
To Temple Bar, there by Sir Maurice Berkeley 
Was taken prisoner. 

Mary. 
To the Tower with Mm! 

Messenger. 

'Tis said he told Sir Maurice there was one 
Cognizant of this, and party thereunto, 
My Lord of Devon. 

Mary. 
To the Tower with him I 

Courtenay. 

la, the Tower, the Tower, always the Tower, 

1 shall grow into it — I shall be the Tower. 



98 QUEEN MARY. [ACT H. 

Mart. 

Your Lordship lamj not have so long to wait. 
Remove him ! 

COURTENAY. 

La, to whistle ont my life, 
And carve my coat upon the walls again ! 

[_Uxit CouRTENAY guarded. 

Messenger. 

Also this Wyatt did confess the Princess 
Cognizant thereof, and party thereunto. 

Mary. 
What ? whom — whom did you sa}^ ? 

Messenger. 

Elizabeth, 
Your Ro3^al sister. 

Mary. 

To the Tower with her ! 
M}^ foes are at my feet and I am Queen. 

[Gardiner aiid her Ladies Jcneel to her. 

Gardiner (rising). 

There let them lie, your footstool ! (Aside,) 
Can I strike 



SCENE IV.] QUEEN MARY. 99 

Elizabeth ? — not now and save the life 

Of Devon : if I save him, he and his 

Are bound to me — may strike hereafter. 

(Aloud,) Madam, 
What Wyatt said, or what they said he said, 
Cries of the moment and the street — 

Mary. 

He said it. 
Gardiner. 

Your courts of justice will determine that. 

Renard (advancing). 

I trust by this your Highness will allow 
Some spice of wisdom in my telling 3^ou, 
When last we talk'd, that Philip would not come 
Till Guildford Dudley and the Duke of Suffolk 
And Lady Jane had left us. 

^ Mary. 

They shall die. 
Renard. 

And your so loving sister ? 

Mary. 

She shall die. 
My foes are at my feet, and Philip King. 

[^Exeunt, 



J 



100 QUEEK MARY. [ACT III. 



ACT III. 

SCENE I. —THE CONDUIT IN GEACE- 
CHURCH, 

Painted with the Nine Worthies^ among them 
King Henry VIIL holding a hook^ on it in- 
scribed " Verbum Dei." 

Enter Sir Ralph Bagenhall and Sir 
Thomas Stafford. 

Bagenhall. 

A hundred here and hundreds hang'd in Kent. 
The Tigress had unsheath'd her nails at last, 
And Renard and the Chancellor sharpened them. 
In eA'er}^ London street a gibbet stood. 
Tliej are down to-day. Here bj this house was 

one ; 
The traitor husband dangled at the door. 
And when the traitor wife came out for bread 
To still the petty treason there within, 
Her cap would brush his heels. 

Stafford. 

It is Sir Ralph, 
And muttering to himself as heretofore. 
Sir, see you aught up yonder? 



SCENE I.] QUEEN MARY. 101 

Bagenhall. 

I miss something. 
The tree that only bears dead fruit is gone. 

Stafford. 
What tree, sir? 

Bagenhall. 

Well, the tree in Virgil, sir, 
That bears not its own apples. 



Stafford. 



What ! the gallows ? 



Bagenhall. 
Sir, this dead fruit was ripening overmuch, 
And had to be removed lest living Spain 
Should sicken at dead England. 



Stafford. 
But that a shock may rouse her. 
Bagenhall. 

Sir Thomas Stafford? 



Not so dead, 



I believe 



Stafford. 

I am ill disOTised. 



Bagenhall. 
Well, are you not in peril here? 



102 



QUEEN MARY. 



[act IU. 



Stafford. 

I think so. 
I came to feel the pulse of England, whether 
It beats hard at this marriage. Did you see it? 

Bagenhall. 

Stafford, I am a sad man and a serious. 

Far liefer had I in my country hall 

Been reading some old book, with mine old hound 

Couch'd at m}" hearth, and mine old flask of wine 

Beside me, than have seen it, 3^et I saw it. 

Stafford. 
Good, was it splendid? 

Bagenhall. 

A}^, if Dukes, and Earls, 
And Counts, and sixty Spanish cavaliers. 
Some six or seven Bishops, diamonds, pearls, 
That royal commonplace too., cloth of gold, 
Could make it so. 

Stafford. 
And what was Mary's dress? 

Bagenhall. 

Good faith, I was too sorry for the woman 
To mark the dress. She wore red shoes ! 



SCENE I.] QUEEN MARY. 103 

IStafford. 

Red shoes? 
Bagenhall. 

Scarlet, as if her feet were washed in blood, 
As if she had waded in it. 

Stafford. 

Were your eyes 
So bashful that you look'd no higher ? 

Bagenhall. 

A diamond, 
And Philip's gift, as proof of Philip's love, 
Who hath not any for any, — tho' a true one. 
Blazed false upon her heart. 

Stafford. 

But this proud Prince — 

Bagenhall. 

Nay, he is King, you know, the King of Naples. 

The father ceded Naples, that the son 

Bsing a King, might wed a Queen — O he 

Fl imed in brocade — white satin his trunk hose, 

Inwrought with silver, — on his neck a collar, 

Gold, thick with diamonds ; hanging down from 

this 
The Golden Fleece — and round liis knee, mis- 
placed, 



104 QUEEN MAEY. [ACT III. 

Our English Garter, studded with great emeralds, 
Rubies, I know not what. Have 3 on had enough 
Of all this gear ? 

Stafford. 

Ay, since you hate the telling it. 
How look'd the Queen? 

Bagenhall. 

No fairer for her jewels. 
And I could see that as the new-made couple 
Came from the Minster, moving side by side 
Beneath one canopy, ever and anon 
She cast on him a vassal smile of love, 
Which Philip with a glance of some distaste, 
Or so metliought, return'd. I msiy be wrong, sir. 
This marriage will not hold. 

Stafford. 

I think with 3'ou. 
The King of France will help to break it. 

Bagenhall. 

France ! 
We once had half of France, and hurFd our battles 
Into the heart of Spain ; but England now 
Is but a ball chuck'd between France and Spain, 
His in whose hand she drops ; Harry of Boling- 
broke 



SCENE I.] QUEEN MARY. 105 

Had holpen Richard's tottering throne to stand, 
Could Harry have foreseen that all our nobles 
Would perish on the civil slaughter-field, 
And leave the people naked to the crown, 
And the crown naked to the people ; the crown 
Female, too \ Sir, no woman's regimen 
Can save us. We are fallen, and as I think, 
Never to rise again. 

Stafford. 

You are too black-blooded. 
I'd make a move m}' self to hinder that : 
I know some lusty fellows there in France. 

Bagenhall. 

You would but make us weaker, Thomas Staf- 
ford. 
Wyatt was a good soldier, 3'et he fail'd. 
And strengthen'd Philip. 

Stafford. 

Did not his last breath 
Clear Courtenay and the Princess from the charge 
Of being his co-rebels ? 

Bagenhall. 

A}^, but then 
What such a ojie as Wyatt says is nothing : 



106 QUEEN MARY. [ACT IH. 

We have no men among us. The new Lords 

Are quieted with their sop of Abbeylands, 

And ev'n before the Queen's face Gardiner buys 

them 
With Philip's gold. All greed, no faith, no 

courage ! 
Wh}^, ev'n the haughty prince, Northumberland, 
The leader of our Reformation, knelt 
And blubber'd like a lad, and on the scaffold 
Recanted, and resold himself to Rome. 

Stafford. 

I swear you do your country wrong. Sir Ralph. 
I know a set of exiles over there. 
Dare-devils, that would eat fire and spit it out 
At Philip's beard : they pillage Spain already. 
The French king winks at it. An hour will come 
When they will sweep her from the seas. No 

men? 
Did not Lord Suffolk die like a true man ? 
Is not Lord William Howard a true man ? 
Yea, you 3'ourself, altho' you are black-blooded 
And I, by God, believe mj'self a man. 
Ay, CA^en in the church there is a man — 
Cranmer. 

Fly, would he not, when all men bade him fly. 
And what a letter he wrote against the Pope ! 
There's a brave man, if any. 



SCENE I.] QUEEN MARY, 107 

Bagenhall. 

Ay ; if it hold. 

Crowd (coming on), 
God save their Graces ! 

Stafford. 

Bagenhall, I see 
The Tudor green and white . ( Trumpets . ) They 

are coming now. 
And here's a crowd as thick as herring-shoals. 

Bagenhall. 

Be limpets to this pillar, or we are torn 
Down the strong wave of brawlers. 

Crowd. 

God save their Graces. 

[_ProGession of Trumpeters^ Javelin-men^ 
&c, ; then Spanish and Flemish Nobles 
intermingled, 

Stafford. 

Worth seeing, Bagenhall ! These black dog-Dons 
Garb themselves bravely. Who's the long-face 

there. 
Looks very Spain of very Spain ? 



[act ni. 
The Duke 



108 QTJEElsr MARY, 

Bagenhall. 
Of Alva, an iron soldier. 

Stafford. 

And the Dutchman, 
Now laughing at some jest? 

Bagenhall. 

William of Orange, 
William the Silent. 

Stafford. 
Why do the}^ call him so ? 

Bagenhall. 
He keeps, they say, some secret that may cost 
Philip his life. 

Stafford. 

But then he looks so merry. 

Bagenhall. 
I cannot tell you whj" they call him so. 

\_The King and Queen pass^ attended by 
Peers of the Realm ^ Officers of State ^ 
&G. Cannon shot off. 

Crowd. 
Philip and Mary, Philip and Mary. 
Long live the King and Queen, Philip and Mary. 



SCENE I.] QUEEN MARY. 109 

Stafford. 
They smile as if content with one another. 

Bagenhall. 
A smile abroad is oft a scowl at home. 

[King and Queen pass on. Procession. 

First Citizen. 

I thought this Philip had been one of those 
black devils of Spain, but he hath a 3^ellow 
beard. 

Second Citizen. 

Not red like Iscariof s. 

First Citizen. 

Like a carrot's, as thou sayst, and English 
carrot's better than Spanish licorice ; but I 
thought he was a beast. 

Third Citizen. 

Certain I had heard that every Spaniard car- 
ries a tail like a devil under his trunk hose. 

Tailor. 

Ay, but see what trunk-hoses ! Lord ! they be 
fine ; I never stitch'd none such. They make 
amends for the tails. 



110 QUEEN MARr. [ACT III. 

Fourth Citizen. 

Tut ! every Spanish priest will tell you that all 
English heretics have tails. 

Fifth Citizen. 
Death and the Devil — if he find I have one — 

Fourth Citizen. 

Lo ! thou hast call'd them up ! here they come 
— a pale horse for Death and Gardiner for the 
Devil. 

Enter Gardiner (turning hack from the proces- 
sion). 

Gardiner. 
Knave, wilt thou wear thy cap before the Queen? 

Man. 

My Lord, I stand so squeezed among the crowd 
I cannot lift my hands unto my head. 

Gardiner. 

Knock off his cap there, some of you about him ! 
See there be others that can use their hands. 
Thou art one of Wyatt's men ? 

Man. 

No, my Lord, no. 



SCENE I.] QUEEN MARY. Ill 

Gardiner. 
Thy name, thou knave? 

Man. 
I am nobody, my Lord, 

Gardiner {shouting). 
God's passion ! knave, thy name ? 

Man. 

I have ears to hear. 

Gardiner. 

Ay, rascal, if I leave thee ears to hear. 

Find out his name and bring it me {to Attendant) . 

Attendant. 

Ay, my Lord. 
Gardiner. 

Knave, thou shalt lose thine ears and find thy 

tongue. 
And shalt be thanliful if I leave thee that. 

[Coming before the Conduit. 
The conduit painted — the nine worthies — ay ! 
But then what's here ? King Harry with a scroll. 
Ha — Verbum Dei — verbum — word of God ! 
God's passion ! do you know the knave that 

painted it? 



112 QUEEN MARY. [ACT UI. 

Attendant. 
I do, my Lord. 

Gardiner. 

Tell him to paint it out, 
And put some fresh device in lieu of it — 
A pair of gloves, a pair of gloves, sir ; ha? 
There is no heresy there. 

Attendant. 

I will, my Lord. 
The man shall paint a pair of gloves. I am siu-e 
(Knowing the man) he wrought it ignorantly, 
And not from an}' malice. 

Gardiner. 

Word of God 
In English ! over this the brainless loons 
That cannot spell Esaias from St. Paul, 
Make themselves drunk and mad, fly out and flare 
Into rebellions. I'll have their Bibles burnt. 
The Bible is the priest's. Ay ! fellow, what ! 
Stand staring at me ! shout, you gaping rogue. 

Man. 

I have, my Lord, shouted till I am hoarse. 

Gardiner. 
What hast thou shouted, knave ?■ 



SCENE I.] QUEEN MABY. 113 

Man. 

Long live Queen Mary. 

Gardiner. 

Knave, there be two. There be both King and 

Queen, 
Philip and Mary. Shout. 

Man. 

Nay, but, mj^ Lord, 
The Queen comes first, Mary and Philip. 

Gardiner. 

Shout, then, 
Mary and Philip. 

Man. 

Mary and Philip ! 

Gardiner. 

Now, 
Thou hast shouted for thy pleasure, shout for 

mine ! 
Philip and Mary ! 

Man. 

Must it be so, my Lord ? 

Gardiner. 
Ay, knave. 



114 quee:n^ MARY. [act in. 

Man. 

Philip and Mar3\ 

Gardiner. 

I distrust thee. 
Thine is a half voice and a lean assent. 
What is thy name ? 

Man. 

Sanders. 

Gardiner. 

What else? 

Man. 

Zerubbabel. 
Gardiner. 

Where dost thou live ? 

Man. 

In Cornhill. 

Gardiner. 

Where, knave, where? 
Man. 
Sign of the Talbot. 

Gardiner. 

Come to me to-morrow. — 
Rascal ! — this land is like a hill of fire, 



SCENE I.] QUEEN MABY. 116 

One crater opens when another shuts. 

But so I get the laws against the heretic, 

Spite of Lord Paget and Lord William Howard, 

And others of our Parliament, revived, 

I will show fire on my side — stake and fire — 

Sharp work and short. The knaves are easily 

cowM. 
Follow their Majesties. 

\^Exit, The crowd following. 

Bagenhall. 
As proud as Becket. 

Stafford. 

You would not have him murder' d as Becket 
was? 

Bagenhall. 

No — murder fathers murder : but I say 

There is no man — there was one woman with 

us — 
It was a sin to love her married, dead 
I cannot choose but love her. 

Stafford. 

Lady Jane ? 

Crowd (going off) . 
God save their Graces. 



116 QUEEN MARY. [ACT Hi. 

Stafford. 

Did you see her die ? 

Bagenhall. 

No, no ; her innocent blood had blinded me. 
You call me too black-blooded — true enough, 
Her dark dead blood is in my heart with mine. 
If ever I cry out against the Pope, 
Her dark dead blood that ever moves with mine 
Will stk the living tongue and make the cry. 

Stafford. 
Yet doubtless you can tell me how she died r 

Bagenhall. 
Seventeen — and knew eight languages — in 

music 
Peerless — her needle perfect, and her learning 
Be3^ond the churchmen ; 3'et so meek, so modest, 
So wife-like humble to the trivial boy 
Mismatch' d with her for policy ! I have heard 
She would not take a last farewell of him. 
She fear'd it might unman him for his end. 
She could not be unmann'd — no, nor outwo- 

man'd — 
Seventeen — a rose of grace ! 
Girl never breathed to rival such a rose ; 
Rose never blew that equall'd such a bud. 



SCENE I.] QUEEN MARY. 117 

Stafford. 
Pray jon go on. 

Bagenhall. 

She came upon the scaffold, 
And said she was condemned to die for treason ; 
She had but follow 'd the device of those 
Her nearest kin : she tliQught they knew the laws. 
But for herself, she knew bat little law. 
And nothing of the titles to the crown ; 
She had no desire for that, and wrung her hands, 
And trusted God would save her thro* the blood 
Of Jesus Christ alone. 

Stafford. 

Pray you go on. 

Bagenhall. 

Then knelt and said the Miserere Mei — 
But all in English, mark you ; rose again. 
And, when the headsman pray'd to be forgiven, 
Said, " You will give me my true crown at last, 
But do it quickl}' ; '' then all wept but she, 
Who changed not color when she saw the block. 
But ask'd him, childlike : '' Will you take it olf 
Before I lay me down ?' ' "No, madam," he said. 
Gasping ; and when her innocent eyes were bound. 
She, with her poor blind hands feeling — '^ where 
is it? 



< 



118 QUEEN MARY. [ACT ni. 

Where is it?" — You must fancy that which 

foUow'd, 
If you have heart to do it ! 

Crowd (in the distance) . 

God save their Graces ! 

Stafford. 

Their Graces, our disgraces ! God confound 

them ! 
Why, she's grown bloodier ! when I last was 

here, 
This was against her conscience — would be 

murder ! 

Bagenhall. 

Th€ " Thou shalt do no murder," which God's 

hand 
Wrote on her conscience, Mary rubb'd out 

pale — 
She could not make it white — and over that, 
Traced in the blackest text of Hell — "Thou 

Shalt ! " 
And sign'd it — Mary ! 

Stafford. 

Philip and the Pope 
Must have sign'd too. I hear this Legate's 
coming 



SCENE I.] QUEEN MARY. 119 

To bring us absolution from the Pope. 

The Lords and Commons will bow down before 

him — 
You are of the house? what will you do. Sir 

Ralph? 

Bageniiall. 

And why should I be bolder than the rest, 
Or hones ter than all ? 

Stafford. 

But, sir, if I — 
And over sea they say this state of yours 
Hath no more mortise than a tower of cards ; 
And that a puff would do it — - then if I 
And others made that move I've touch 'd upon, 
Back'd by the power of France, and landing here, 
Came with a sudden splendor, shout, and show. 
And dazzled men and deafen' d by some bright 
Loud venture, and the people so unquiet — 
And I the race of murder'd Buckingham — 
Not for myself, but for the kingdom — Sir, 
I trust that you would fight along with us. 

Bagenhall. 
No ; you would fling your lives into the gulf. 

Stafford. 
But if this Philip, as he's like to do, 



120 



QUEEN MAKY. 



[ACT ni. 



Left Mary a wife- widow here alone, 
Set up a viceroy, sent his mj'riads hither 
To seize upon the forts and fleet, and make us 
A Spanish province ; would 3 ou not fight then ? 

Bagenhall. 
I think I should fight then. 

Stafford. 

I am sure of it. 
Hist ! there's the face coming on here of one 
Who knows me. I must leave you. Fare you 

well. 
You'll hear of me again. 

Bagenhall. 

Upon the scaflTold. \_Exeunt. 



SCENE 11. — ROOM IN WHITEHALL 
PALACE. 

Mary. Enter Philip a7id Cardinal Pole. 

Pole. 

Ave Maria, gratia plena, Benedicta tu in mulieri- 
bus. 



SCENE II.] QUEEN MARY. 121 

Mary. 

Loj^al and ro3^al cousin, humblest thanks. 
Had jou a pleasant voyage up the river ? 

Pole. 

We had your roj^al barge, and that same chair, 
Or rather throne of purple, on the deck. 
Our silver cross sparkled before the prow. 
The ripples twinkled at their diamond-dance, 
The boats that follow 'd, were as glowing-gay 
As regal gardens ; and your flocks of swans. 
As fair and white as angels ; and your shores 
Wore in mine eyes the green of Paradise. 
My foreign friends, who dream' d us blanketed 
In ever-closing fog, were much amazed 
To find as fair a sun as might have flash' d 
Upon their Lake of Garda, fire the Thames ; 
Our voyage by sea was all but miracle ; 
And here the river flowing from the sea, 
Not toward it (for they thought not of our tides) , 
Seem'd as a happy miracle to make glide — 
In quiet — home j'our banish'd countryman. 

Mary. 
We heard that you were sick in Flanders, cousin. 

Pole. 
A dizziness. 



122 QUEEK MABY. [ACT HI. 

Mary. 
And how came j^ou round again ? 

Pole. 

The scarlet thread of Rahab saved her life ; 
And mine, a little letting of the blood. 

Mary. 
Well? now? 

Pole. 

A}^ cousin, as the heathen giant 
Had but to touch the ground, his force re- 

turn'd — 
Thus, after twentj^ years of banishment, 
Feeling m}^ native land beneath my foot, 
I said thereto : " Ah, native land of mine, 
Thou art much beholden to this foot of mine, 
That hastes with full commission from the Pope 
To absolve thee from thy guilt of heresy. 
Thou hast disgraced me and attainted me, 
And mark'd me ev'n as Cain, and I return 
As Peter, but to bless thee : make me well." 
Methinks the good land heard me, for to-day 
My heart beats twenty, when I see you, cousin. 
Ah, gentle cousin, since your Herod's death. 
How oft hath Peter knock' d at Mary's gate ! 
And Mary would have risen and let him in. 
But, Mary, there were those within the house 
Who would not have it. 



SCENE II.] QUEEN MARY. 123 

Mary. 

True, good cousin Pole ; 
And there were also those without the house 
Who would not have it. 

Pole. 

I believe so, cousin. 
State-policy and church-policy are conjoint, 
But Janus-faces looking diverse wa3's. 
I fear the Emperor much mis valued me. 
But all is well ; 'twas ev'n the will of God, 
Who, waiting till the time had ripen'd, now. 
Makes me his mouth of holy greeting. " Hail, 
Daughter of God, and saver of the faith, 
Sit benedictus fructus ventris tui ! '* 

Mary. 

Ah, heaven ! 

Pole. 

Unwell, your grace? 

Mary. 

No, cousin, happy — 
Happy to see you ; never yet so happy 
Since I was crown' d. 

Pole. 

Sweet cousin, you forget 
That long low minster where you gave your hand 
To this great Catholic King. 



124 QUEEN MAEY. [ACT lU. 

Philip. 

Well said, Lord Legate. 

Mary. 

Nay, not well said ; I thought of you, my liege, ^ 
Ev'n as I spoke. 

Philip. 

Ay, Madam ; my Lord Paget 
"Waits to present our Council to the Legate. 
Sit down here, all ; Madam, between us you. 

Pole. 

Lo, now 3^ou are enclosed with boards of cedar, 
Our little sister of the Song of Songs ! 
You are doubly fenced and shielded sitting here 
Between the two most high-set thrones on earth, 
The Emperor's highness happily symboU'd by 
The King jour husband, the Pope's Holiness 
By mine own self. 

Mary. 

True, cousin, I am happy. 
When will you that we summon both our houses 
To take this absolution from your lips. 
And be regather'd to the Papal fold ? 

Pole. 
In Britain's calendar the brightest day 
Beheld our rough forefathers break their Gods, 



SCENE II.] QUEEN MARY. 125 

And clasp the faith in Christ ; but after that 
Might not St. Andrew's be her happiest day ? 

Mary. 

Then these shall meet upon St. Andrew's day. 
Enter Paget, lulio presents the Council, Dumb 
sJiow. 

Pole. 

I am an old man wearied with my journey, 
Ev'n with my joy. Permit me to withdraw. 
To Lambeth? 

Philip. 

Ay, Lambeth has ousted Cranmer. 
It was not meet the heretic swine should live 
In Lambeth. 

Mary. 

There or anywhere, or at all. 

Philip. 
We have had it swept and garnish'd after him. 

Pole. 
Not for the seven devils to enter in ? 

Philip. 
No, for we trust they parted in the swine. 



126 QUEEN MARY. [ACT TH. 

Pole. 

True, and I am the Angel of the Pope. 
Farewell, your Graces. 

Philip. 

Nay, not here — to me ; 
I will go with you to the waterside. , 

Pole. 
Not be my Charon to the counter side? 

Philip. 
No, my Lord Legate, the Lord Chancellor goes. 

Pole. 

And unto no dead world ; but Lambeth palace, 
Henceforth a centre of the living faith. 

[^Exeunt Philip, Pole, Paget, &c. 

Manet Mary. 
He hath awaked ! he hath awaked ! 
He stirs within the darkness ! 
Oh, Philip, husband ! now thy love to mine 
Will cling more close, and those bleak manners 

thaw, 
That make me shamed and tongue-tied in my love. 
The second Prince of Peace — 
The great unborn defender of the Faith, 



SCENE II.] QUEEN MARY. 127 

Who will avenge nie of mine enemies — 

He comes, and m^' star rises. 

The storm}^ W^^atts and Northumberlands, 

The proud ambitions of Elizabeth, 

And all her fieriest partisans — are pale 

Before m}' star ! 

The light of this new learning wanes and dies : 

The ghosts of Luther and Zuinglius fade 

Into the deathless hell which is their doom 

Before my star ! 

His sceptre shall go forth from Ind to Ind ! 

His sword shall hew the heretic peoples down ! 

His faith shall clothe the world that will be his, 

Like universal air and sunshine ! Open, 

Ye everlasting gates ! The King is here ! — 

My star, my son ! 

Enter Philip, Duke of Alva, &c. 

Oh, Philip, come with me ; 
Good news have I to tell 3'ou, news to make 
Both of us happy — ay the Kingdom too. 
Nay come with me — one moment ! 

Philip (to Alva) . 

More than that : 
There was one here of late — William the Silent 
The}^ call him — he is free enough in talk. 
But tells me nothing. You will be, we trust, 
Some time the viceroy of those provinces — 
He must deserve his surname better. 



128 QUEEISr MABY, [ACT LQ. 

Alva. 

Ay, sir ; 
Inherit the Great Silence. 

Philip. 

True ; the provinces 
Are hard to rule and must be hardl}^ ruled ; 
Most fruitful, yet, indeed, an empty rind. 
All hollow'd out with stinging heresies ; 
And for their heresies, Alva, thej'^ will fight : 
You must break them or they break 3^ou. 

Alva {proudly). 

The first. 
Philip. 
Good ! 
Well, Madam, this new happiness of mine. 

\_ExevMt. 
Enter Three Pages. 

First Page. 

News, mates ! a miracle, a miracle ! news ! 
The bells must ring ; Te Deams must be sung ; 
The Queen hath felt the motion of her babe ! 

Second Page. 

Ay ; but see here ! 

First Page. 
See what? 



SCENE n.] QUEEK MAHY. 129 

Second Page. 

This paper, Dickon. 
I found it fluttering at the palace gates : — 
"The Queen of England is delivered of a dead 
dog!" 

Third Page. 

These are the things that madden her. Fie 
upon it. 

First Page. 

Ay ; but I hear she hath a dropsy, lad, 
Or a high-drops}^, as the doctors call it. 

Third Page. 

Fie on her drops}^, so she have a dropsy ! 
I know that she was ever sweet to me. 

First Page. 
For thou and thine are Roman to the core- 

Third Page. 
So thou and thine must be. Take heed ! 

First Page. 

Not I. 

And whether this flash of news/be false or true, 
So the wine run, and there be revelry. 
Content am I. Let all the steeples clash, 
Till the sun dance, as upon Easter Day. 

^Exeunt, 



130 QUEEN MABY. [ACT ELI. 

SCENE III. — GREAT HALL IN WHITE- 
HALL. 

[^At the few end a dais. O.i this three chairs, 
two under one canopy for Mary and PniLip, 
another on the rir/ht of these for Pole. Un- 
der the dais on Pole's side, ranged along the 
wall, sit all the Spiritual Peers, and cdong 
the icall ojyposite, all the Temporal. The 
Commons on cross benches in front, a line of 
ax>proach to the dais between them. In the . 
foreground Sir Ralph Bagenhall and other 
Members of the Commons.] 

First Member. 
St. Andrew's day ; sit close, sit close, we are 

friends. 
Is reconciled the word ? the Pope again ? 
It must be thus ; and j^et, cocksbody ! how strange 
That Gardiner, once so one with all of us 
Against this foreign marriage, should have 3'ielded 
So utterl}' ! — strange ! but stranger still that he, 
So fierce against the Headship of the Pope, 
Should play the second actor in this pageant 
That brings him in ; such a chameleon he ! 

Second Member. 

Tliis Gardiner turn'd his coat in Henry's time ; 
The serpent that hath slough'd will slough again. 



SCENE III.] QtJEEK MAKY. 131 

Third Member. 

Tat, then wc all are serpents. 

Sevcond Member. 

Speak for yourself. 

Third Member. 

A}', and for Gardiner ! being English citizen, 
How should he bear a bridegroom out of Spain ? 
The Queen would have him ! being English 

churchman, 
How should he bear the headship of the Pope ? 
The Queen would have it ! Statesmen that are 

wise 
Shape a necessit}', as the sculptor cla}^ 
To their own model. 

Second Member. 

Statesmen that are wise 
Take truth herself for model, what say you? 

[To Sir Ralph Bagenhall. 

Bagenitall. 
We talk and talk. 

First Member. 

A}', and what use to talk ? 
rhilip's no sudden alien — the Queen's husband, 
He's here, and king, or will be, — yet cocksbody I 



132 QTTBEN MARY. [ACT III. 

So liate.l her:^ ! I watcli'd a hive of late ; 

My seveii-3*ear3' fiiend was with me, my young 

boy; 
Oat crept a wasp, with half the swarm behind. 
" Philip,'* says he. I had to cuff the rogue 
For infant treason. 

Third Membku. 

But they say that bees, 
If any creeping life invade their hive 
Too gross to be thrust out, will build him round, 
And bind liim in from harming of their combs. 
And Philip by these articles is bound 
From; stirring hand or foot to wrong the realm. 

Second Member. 

By bonds of beeswax, like your creeping thing ; 
But 3'our wise bees had stung him lirst to death. 

Third Member. 
Hush, hush ! 

You wrong the Chancellor ; the clauses added 
To that same treaty which the emperor sent us 
Were mainly Gardiner's : that no foreigner 
Hold Oiiice in the househokl, fleet, forts, arm^^ ; 
That if the Qaeen should die without a child. 
The bond betvv'cen the kingdoms be dissolved ; 
That Philip should not mix us au}' way 
With his French wars — 



SCENE ni.] QUEEN MARY. 133 

Second Member. 

A}', a}^, but what securit}', 
Good sir, for this, if Philip — 

Third Member. 

Peace — the Queen, 
Philip, and Pole. 

\^AU rise^ and stand. 
Enter Mary, Philip, and Pole. 

[Gardiner conducts them to the three 
chairs of state. Philip sits on the 
Queen's left^ Pole on her right, 

Gardiner. 

Our short-lived sun, before his winter plunge, 
Laughs at the last red leaf, and Andrew's day. 

Mary. 

Should not this da}^ be held in after years 
More solemn than of old ? 

Philip. 

Madam, my wish 
Echoes 3"our Majesty's. 

Pole. 

It shall be so. 



134 QUEEN MAHY. [ACT HI. 

Gardiner. 

Mine echoes both your Graces' ; (aside) but the 

Pope — 
Can we not have the Catholic church as well 
Without as with the Italian ? if we cannot, 
Wh}' then the Pope. 

My lords of the upper house, 
And 3'e, in}^ masters, of the lower house, 
Do 3'c stand fast by that w^hich ye resolved ? 

Voices. 
We do. 

Gardiner. 

And be 3'ou all one mind to supplicate 

The Legate here for pardon, and acknowledge 

The primac}^ of the Pope ? 

Voices. 

We are all one mind. 

Gardiner. 
Then must I play the vassal to this Pole. [Aside. 

\^He draivs a 2')ciper from under his robes 
and presents it to the King and Queen, 
who loolc through it and return it to 
him; then ascends a tribune^ and 
reads. 



SCENE III.] QUEEN MARY. 135 

We, the Lords Spiritual and Temporal, 
And Commons here in Parliament assembled, 
Presenting the whole bod}' of this realm 
Of England, and dominions of the same. 
Do make most humble suit unto 3'our Majesties, 
In our own name and that of all the state. 
That hy jour gracious means and intercession 
Our supplication be exhibited 
To the Lord Cardinal Pole, sent here as Legate 
From our most hol}^ father Julius, Pope, 
And from the apostolic see of Rome ; 
And do declare our penitence and grief 
For our long schism and disobedience, 
Either in making laws and ordinances 
Against the Holy Father's primacj'. 
Or else by doing or b}^ speaking aught 
Which might impugn or prejudice the same ; 
By this our supplication promising. 
As well for our own selves as all the realm, 
That now we be and ever shall be quick. 
Under and with 3'our Majesties' authorities, 
To do to the utmost all that in us lies 
Towards the abrogation and repeal 
Of all such laws and ordinances made ; 
Whereon we humbly pray your Majesties, 
As persons undefiled with our oifence, 
iSo to set forth this humble suit of ours 
That wc the rather by 3'our intercession 



136 QUEEN MARY. [ACT 111. 

Ma}^ from the apostolic see obtain, 

Thro' this most reverend Father, absolution, 

And fall release from danger of all censures 

Of Holy Church that we be fall'n into, 

So that we may, as children penitent. 

Be once again received into the bosom 

And unity of Universal Church ; 

And that this noble realm thro' after 3'ears 

Ma}' in this unity and obadience 

Unto the holy see and reignhig Pope 

Serve God and both 3 our Majesties. 

Voices. 

Amen. [^All sit. 

[^He again presents the petition to the King 
and Queen, who hand it reverentially 
to Pole. 

Pole (sitting). 

This is the loveliest day that ever smiled 

On England. All her breath should, incense like, 

Rise to the heavens in grateful praise of Plim 

Who now recalls her to his ancient fold. 

Lo ! once again God to this realm hath given 

A token of His more especial Grace ; 

For as this people were the first of all 

The islands calFd into the dawning church 

Out of the dead, deep night of heathendom, 



SCEKE III.] QUEEN MARY. 137 

So now are these the first whom God hath giA en 

Grace to repent and sorrow for their schism ; 

And if your penitence be not mockery, 

Oh how the blessed angels who rejoice 

Over one saved do triumph at this hour 

In the reborn salvation of a land 

So noble. \^A pause. 

For ourselves we do protest 
That our commission is to heal, not harm ; 
We come not to condemn, but reconcile ; 
We come not to compel, but call again ; 
We come not to destroy, but edify ; 
Nor 3'et to question things already done ; 
These are forgiven — matters of the past — 
And range with jetsam and with offal thrown 
Into the blind sea of forge tfulness. \^A pause. 
Ye have reversed the attainder laid on us 
By him who sack'd the house of God ; and we, 
Amplier than any field on our poor earth 
Can render thanks in fruit for being sown, 
Do here and now repay you sixty-fold, 
A hundred, 3'ea, a thousand thousand-fold. 
With heaven for earth. 

\_Iiising and stretching forth his hands. 
All liueel hut Sir Ralph Bageniiall, 
who rises and remains standing. 

The Lord who hath redeom'd us 
With his own blood, and wasli'd us from our sins, 



138 QUEEN MARY. [ACT in. 

To purchase for Himself a stainless bride ; 
He, Avliom the Father hath appointed Head 
Of all his church, He b}' His mercy absolve 3'ou ! 

\^A pause. 
And we by that authority Apostolic 
Given unto us, his Legate, hj the Pope, 
Our Lord and Holy Father, Julius, 
God's Vicar and Vicegerent upon earth, 
Do here absolve 3'ou and deliver 3'ou 
And ever}^ one of 3'ou, and all the realm 
And its dominions from all heresy. 
All schism, and from all and every censure, 
Judgment, and pain accruing thereupon ; 
And also we restore 3'ou to the bosom 
And unit3' of Universal Charch. 

\_Turning to Gardiner. 
Our letters of commission will declare this plain- 
ller. 

[Queen heard sobbing. Cries of Amen ! 
Amen ! Some of the members em- 
brace one another. All but Sir Ralph 
Bageniiall pass out into the neigli- 
boring chapel^ ichence is heard the Te 
Deum. 

Bagenhall. 

We strove against the papac3' from the first, 
In William's time, in our first Edward's time, 



SCENE ni.] QUEEN MARY. 139 

And ill my master Henry's time ; but now, 

The unity of Universal Church, 

Mary would have it ; and this Gardiner follows ; 

The unit}' of Universal Hell, 

Philip Avould have it ; and this Gardiner follovrs ! 

A Parliament of imitative apes ! 

Sheep at the gap which Gardiner takes, who not 

Believes the Pope, nor any of them believe — 

These spaniel-Spaniard English of the time. 

Who rub their fawning noses in the dust, 

For that is Philip's gold-dust, and adore 

This Vicar of their Vicar. Would I had beou 

Born Spaniard ! I had held m}^ head up then. 

I am ashamed that I am Bagenhall, 

English. 

Enter Officer. 

Officek. 
Sir Ralph Bagenhall. 

Bagenhall. 

What of that? 
Officer. 

You were the one sole man in either house 
Who stood upright when both the houses fell. 

Bagenhall. 
The houses fell ! 

Officer. 



k 



I mean the houses knelt 



Before the Legate. 



140 QUEEN MARY. [ACT III. 

Bagenhall. 

Do not scrimp 3'our phrase, 
But stretch it wider ; say when England fell. 

Officer. 
I say you were the one sole man who stood. 

Bagenhall. 
I am the one sole man in either house, 
Perchance in England, loves her like a son. 

Officer. 
Well, you one man, because you stood upright, 
Her Grace the Queen commands 3'ou to the Tower. 

Bagenhall. 

As traitor, or as heretic, or for what? 

Officer. 
If any man in any way would be 
The one man he shall be so to his cost. 

Bagenhall. 
What ! will she have my head? 

Officer. 

A round fine likelier. 
Your pardon. [Calling to Attendant, 

By the river to the Tower. 

lExeuiit. 



SCENE ly.] QUEEK MABY. 141 

SCENE IV.— WIIITEIIALL. A ROOM IN 
THE PALACE. 

Mary, Gardiner, Pole, Paget, Bonner, &c. 

Mary. 

The king and I, my Lords, now that all traitors 
Against our royal state have lost the heads 
Wherewith the^^ plotted in their treasonous malice, 
Have talk'd together, and are well agreed 
That those old statutes touching Lollardism 
To bring the heretic to the stake, should be 
No longer a dead letter, but requicken'd. 

One of the Council. 

Wh}^, what hath fluster'd Gardiner? how he rabs 

His forelock. 

Paget. 

I have changed a word with him 
In coming, and may change a word again. 

Gardiner. 

Madam, 3'our Highness is our sun, the King 
And 3'ou together our two suns in one ; 
And so the beams of both mny shine upon us, 
Tlie faith that scem'd to droop will feel your light, 
Lift head, and flourish ; yet not light alone, . 



i 



142 QUEEN MABY. [ACT in. 

There must bo heat — there must be heat enough 

To scorch and wither heresy to the root. 

For what saith Christ? " Compel them to come 

in." 
And what saith Paul? ^' I would the^^ were cut off 
That trouble 3'oii." Let the dead letter live ! 
Trace it in fire, that all the louts to whom 
Their A B C is darkness, clowns and grooms 
Mtiy read it ! so you quash rebellion too, 
For lieretic and traitor are all one : 
Two vipers of one breed — an amphisboena, 
Eacli end a sting : Let the dead letter burn ! 

Paget. 

Ye(i there be some disloj'al Catholics, 
And many heretics loyal ; heretic throats 
Cried no God-bless-her to the Jjudy Jane, 
But shouted in Queen Mary. So there be 
Some traitor-heretic, there is axe and cord. 
To lake the lives of others tliat are lo^'al, 
And by the churchman's pitiless doom of fire, 
AVere but a thankless policy in the crown, 
A}', and against itself; for there are many. 

Mary. 

If we could burn out heres}', m}^ Lord Paget, 
We reck not tho' we lost this crown of England — 
Ay ! tho' it were ten Engiands 1 



SCENE IV.] QUEEN MAPwY. 1-43 

Gardiner. 

Eight, yonr Grace. 
Paget, 3'0ii arc all for this poor life of ours, 
And care but little for the life to be. 

Paget. 

I have some time, for ciiriousness, my Lord, 
Watch'd children playing at their life to be. 
And cruel at it, killing helpless flies ; 
Such is our time — all times for aught I know. 

Gardiner. 

We kill the heretics that sting the soul — 
The}', Tvith right reason, flies that prick the flesh. 

Paget. 

Thej'had notreath'd right reason ; little children ! 
The}' kill'd but for their pleasure and the power 
They felt in killing. 

Gardiner. 

A spice of Satan, ha ! 
"Wliy, good ! what then? granted ! — we are 

fallen creatures ; 
Look to yoiu' Bible, Paget ! we are fallen. 

Paget. 
T am but of the laity, my Lord Bishop, 




144 QUEEN MARY. [ACT n.". 

And may not read 3'our Bible, 3'et I found 

One day, a wholesome scripture, '' Little children, 

Love one another.'' 

Gardiner. 

Did you find a scripture, 
' ' I come not to bring peace but a sword ' ' ? The 

sword 
Is in her Grace's hand to smite with. Paget, 
You stand up here to fight for lieres}^, 
Y^ou are more than guess' d at as a heretic, 
And on the steep up-track of the true faith 
Your lapses are far seen. 

Paget. 

The faultless Gardiner ! 

Mary. 

You brawl bej^ond the question ; speak. Lord 
Legate. 

Pole. 

Indeed, I cannot follow with your Grace, 
Rather would say — the shepherd doth not kill 
The sheep that wander from his flock, but sends 
His careful dos: to brins: them to the fold. 
Look to the Netherlands, wherein have been 
Such holocausts of heresy ! to what end? 
For 3'et the faith is not established there. 



1 



SCENE IV.] QUEEN MABY. 145 

Gardiner. 

The end's not come. 

Pole. 

No — nor tins way will come, 
Seeing there lie two wtiys to every end, 
A better and a worse — the worse is here 
To persecute, because to persecute 
Makes a faith hated, and is furthermore 
No perfect witness of a perfect faith 
In him who persecutes : when men are tost 
On tides of strange opinion, and not sure 
Of their own selves, they are wroth with their 

own selves. 
And thence with others ; then, who lights the 

fagot ? 
Not the full faith, no, but the lurking doubt. 
Old Rome, that first made mart^TS in the Church, 
Trembled for her own gods, for these were trem- 
bling — 
But when did our Rome tremble ? 

Paget. 

Did she not 
In Henry's time and Edward's? 

Pole. 

What, my Lord ! 

The Church on Peter's rock ? never ! I have seen 



146 QUEEX MARY. [ACT III. 

A pine in Ital}^ that cast its shadow 
Athwart a cataract ; Imn stood the pine — 
The cataract shook the shadow. To my mind, 
The cataract t^'ped the headlong phuige and fall 
Of heres}' to the pit : the pine was Rome. 
You see, my Lords, 

It was the shadow of the Chui^ch that trembled ; 
Yoiu- church was but the shadow of a church, 
Wanting the triple mitre. 

Gardiner {muttering). 

Here be tropes. 

Pole. 

And tropes are good to clothe a naked truth. 
And make it look more seemly. 

Gardiner. 

Tropes again ! 
Pole. 

You are hard to please. Then without tropes, 

my Lord, 
An overmuch severeness, I repeat. 
When faith is wavering makes the waverer pass 
Into more settled hatred of the doctrines 
Of those who rule, which hatred by and by 
Involves the ruler (thus there springs to light 
That Centaur of a monstrous Commonweal, 



SCENE IV.] QUEEN MARY. 147 

The traitor-heretic) then tho' some may quail. 

Yet others are that dare the stake and fire, 

And their strong torment bravely borne, begets 

An admiration and an indignation, 

And hot desire to imitate ; so the plague 

Of schism spreads ; were there but three or four 

Of these misleaders, ^et I would not say 

Burn ! and we cannot burn whole towns ; they 

are many 
As my Lord Paget sa3^s. 

Gardiner. 

Yet my Lord Cardinal — 

Pole. 

I am 3'our Legate ; please you let me finish. 

Methinks that under our Queen's regimen 

We might go softlier than with crimson rowel 

And streaming lash. When Herod-Henry first 

Began to batter at your English Church, 

This was the cause, and hence the judgment on 

her. 
She seethed with such adulteries, and the lives 
Of many among ^-our churchm.en were so foul 
That heaven wept and earth blush'd. I would 

advise 
That we should thoroughly cleanse the Church 

within 



148 QUEEN MAEY. [ACT HI. 

Before these bitter statutes be rcquieken'd. 
So after that when she once more is seen 
White as the light, the spotless bride of Christ, 
Like Christ himself on Tabor, possibly 
The Lutheran may be won to her again ; 
Till when, my Lords, I counsel tolerance. 

Gakdixer. 
What if a mad dog bit 3'our hand, my Lord, 
Would you not chop the bitten finger off. 
Lest 3-our whole body should madden with the 

poison ? 
I would not, were I Queen, tolerate the heretic. 
No, not an hour. The ruler of a land 
Is boundcn by his power and place to see 
His people be not poison'd. Tolerate them ! 
Why ? do they tolerate 3^ou ? Na}^ man}^ of them 
Would burn — have burnt each other ; call they 

not 
The one true faith, a loathsome idol- worship ? 
Beware, Lord Legate, of a heavier crime 
Then heresy is itself ; beware I say, 
Lest men accuse 3'ou of indifference 
To all faith, all religion ; for you know 
Eight well that 3'ou 3'ourself have been supposed 
Tainted with Lutheranism in Ital3\ 

Pole {angered). 
But you, my Lord, beyond all supposition, 



SCENE IV.] QUEEN MARY. 149 

111 clear and open day were congruent 
With that vile Cranmer in the accursed lie 
Of good Queen Catherine's divorce — the spring 
Of all those evils that have flow'd upon us ; 
For 3'ou 3'ourself have truckled to the tyrant, 
And done your best to bastardize our Queen, 
For which God's righteous judgment fell upon you 
In 3'our five 3'ears of imprisonment, my Lord, 
Under 3'oung Edward. Who so bolster'd up 
The gross King's headship of the Church, or more 
Denied the Holy Father ! 

Gardiner. 

Ha! what! eh? 
But 3'ou, my Lord, a polish'd gentleman, 
A bookman, flj'ing from the heat and tussle, 
You lived among 3'our vines and oranges. 
In your soft Ital}' 3'onder ! You were sent for, 
You were appeal'd to, but 3'ou still preferr'd 
Your learned leisure. As for what I did 
I suffer'd and repented. You, Lord Legate 
And Cardinal-Deacon, have not now to learn 
That ev'n St. Peter in his time of fear 
Denied his Master, ay, and tlmcc, my Lord. 

Pole. 
But not for five and twenty years, my Lord. 



150 QUEEK MARY. [ACT ni. 

Gardiner. 

Ha ! good ! it seems then I was summoned hither 
But to be mock'd and baited. Speak, friend 

Bonner, 
And tell this learned Legate he lacks zeal. 
The Church's evil is not as the King's, 
Cannot be heal'd b}- stroking. The mad bite 
Must have the cautery — tell him — and at once. 
What wouldst thou do hadst thou his power, thou 
That la^^est so long in heretic bonds with me. 
Wouldst thou not burn and blast them root and 

branch ? 

Bonner. 

Ay, after j'ou, my Lord. 

Gardiner. 
Nay, God's passion, before me ! speak. 

Bonner. 
I am on fire until I see them flame. 

Gardiner.. 

Ay, the psalm-singing weavers, cobblers, scum — 
But this most noble prince Plant agenet, 
Our good Queen's cousin — dalljing over seas 
Even when his brother's, nay, his noble mother's^ 
Head fell — 



I 



SCENE IV.] QUEEN MARY. 151 

Pole. 

Peace, mad man! 
Thou stirrest up a grief thou canst not fathom. 
Thou Christian Bishop, thou Lord Chancellor 
Of England? no more rein upon thine anger 
Than any cliild ! Thou mak'st mo much ashamed 
That I was for a moment wroth at thee. 

Mary. 
I come for counsel and ye give me feuds, 
Like dogs that set to watch their master's gate, 
Fall, when the thief is ev'n within the walls, 
To worrying one another. My Lord Chancellor, 
You have an old trick of ofiendiug us ; 
And but that 3'ou are art and part with us 
In purging heresy, well we might, for this 
Your violence and much roughness to the Legate, 
Have shut 3'ou from our counsels. Cousin Pole, 
You are fresh from brighter lands. Retire with me. 
His highness and mj^self (so you allov/ us) 
Will let 3'ou learn in peace and privacy 
What power this cooler sun of England hath 
In breeding Godless vermin. And pra}^ Heaven 
That 3'ou ma}' see according to our sight. 
Come, cousin. \_Exeitnt Queen and Pole, &c. 

Gardiner. 

Pole has the Plantagenet face. 



152 QUEEK MARY. [ACT IH. 

But not the force made them our mightiest kings. 
Fine eyes — but melanchol}^, irresolute — 
A fine beard, Bonner, a A^ery full fine beard. 
But a weak mouth, an indeterminate — ha? 

Bonner. 

Well, a weak mouth, perchance. 

Gardiner. 

And not like thine 
To gorge a heretic whole, roasted or raw. 

Bonner. 

I'd do my best, m}' Lord ; but 3^et the Legate 
Is here as Pope and Master of tlie Church, 
And if he go not with 3'ou — 

Gardiner. 

Tut, Master Bishop, 
Our bashful Legate, saw'st not how he flush'd? 
Touch him upon his old heretical talk, 
He'll burn a diocese to prove his orthodox3\ 
And let him call me truckler. In those times, 
Thou knowest we had to dodge, or duck, or die ; 
I kept my head for use of Holy Church ; 
And see 3'ou, we shall have to dodge again. 
And let the Pope trample our rights, and plunge 
His foreign fist into our island Church 
To plump the leaner pouch of Italy. 



SCENE lY.] QUEEN MARY. 153 

For a time, for a time. 

Wbj'? that these statutes may be put in force, 

And that his fan may thoroughl^^ purge his floor. 

Bonner. 

So then j^ou hold the Pope — 

Gardiner. 

I hold the Pope ! 
What do I hold him ? what do I hold the Pope ? 
Come, come, the morsel stuck — this Cardinal's 

fault — 
I have gulpt it down. I am wholly for the Pope, 
Utterly and altogether for the Pope, 
The Eternal Peter of the changeless chair. 
Crown' d slave of slaves, and mitred king of kings, 
God upon earth ! what more ? what would you 

have ? 
Hence, let's be gone. 

Enter Usher. 

Usher. 

Well that you be not gone, 
My Lord. The Queen, most wiotb at fn-st vvilh 

you. 
Is now content to grant 3'ou full forgiveness. 
So that 3'ou crave full pardon of the Legate. 
I am sent to fetch you. 



154 



QUEEN MABY. 



[act III. 



Gardiner. 

Doth Pole yield, sir, ha ! 
Did 3'ou hear 'em? were 3'ou b}^? 

Usher. 

I cannot tell 3^ou, 
His bearing is so courtlj'-delicate ; 
And 3'et methinks he falters : then- two Graces 
Do so dear-cousin and roj'al-cousin him, 
So press on him the duty which as Legate 
He owes himself, and vvith such royal smiles — 

Gardiner. 

Smiles that burn men. Bonner, it will be car- 
ried. 
He falters, ha? 'fore God we change and change ; 
Men now are bow'd and old, the doctors tell 3'ou, 
At threescore j'ears ; then if we change at all 
We needs must do it quickl}^ ; it is an age 
Of brief life, and brief purpose, and brief 

patience, 
As I have shown to-day. I am soriy for it 
If Pole be like to turn. Our old friend Cranmer, 
Your more especial love, hath turn'd so often. 
He knows not where he stands, which, if this 

pass. 
We two shall have to teach him ; let 'em look to 
it, 



SCENE v.] QUEEN MvVEY. 155 

Cranmer and Hooper, Ridley and Latimer, 
Rogers and Ferrar, for their time is come, 
Tlieir hour is hard at Iiand, their '• dies Tree," 
Their " dies Ilia," -which will test their sect. 
I feel it but a duty — you will find in it 
Pleasure as well as dut}', worth}' Bonner, — 
To test their sect. Sir, 1 attend the Queen 
To crave most humble pardon — of her most 
Royal, Infallible, Papal Legate-cousin. 

\_Exeu7it, 



SCENE v.— WOODSTOCK. 
Elizabeth, Lady in Waiting. 

Lady. 

The colors of our Queen are green and white. 
These fields are only green, tbey make me gape. 

Elizabeth. 
There's wliite thorn, giiL 

Lady. 

Ay, for an hour in May. 
But court is always May, buds out in masks, 
Breaks into feather'd merriments, and liowers 



156 QUEEN MARY. [ACT III. 

Ill sillveii pageants. Why do they keep us here? 
Why still suspect your Grace? 

Elizabeth. 

Hard upon both. 
[ Writes on the window tvith a diamond 

Much vsuspected, of mo 
Nothing proveu can be, 

Quoth Elizabeth, prisoner. 

Lady. 
What hath 3'our Highness written ? 

Elizabeth. 

A true rhyme. 

Lady. 
Cut with a diamond ; so to last like truth. 

Elizabeth. 
Ay, if truth last. 

Lady. 

But truth, they say, will out. 
So it must last. It is not like a word. 
That comes and goes in uttering. 

Elizabeth. 

Truth, a word ! 
The very Truth and veiy Word are one. 



SCENE v.] QUEEN MARY. 157 

But truth of stor}', which I glanced at, girl, 
Is lilvc a word that comes from olden days, 
And passes thro' the peoples : everj' tongue 
Alters it passing, till it spells and speaks 
Quite other than at first. 

Lady. 

I do not follow. 

Elizabeth. 

How many names in the long sweep of timo 
That so foreshortens greatness, ma}^ but hang 
On the chance mention of some fool that once 
Brake bread with us, perhaps ; and my poor 

chronicle 
Is but of glass. Sir Henry Bedhigfield 
Ma}^ split it for a spite. 

Lady. 

God grant it last, 
And witness to 3'our Grace's innocence, 
Till doomsday melt it. 

Elizabeth. 

Or a second fire. 
Like that which latel}^ crackled underfoot 
And in this very chamber, fuse the glass, 
And char us back asjain into the dust 



168 QUEEN MARY. [ACT HI. 

We spring from. Never peacock against rain 
Scream'd as 3'ou did for water. 

Lady. 

And I got it. 
I woke Sir Hemy — and he's true to 3'ou — 
I read bis honest horror in his eyes. 

Elizabeth. 

Or true to 3'ou ? 

Lady. 

Sir Henry Bedingfield ! 
I will have no man true to me, your Grace, 
But one that pares his nails ; to me? the clown ! 
For, like his cloak, his manners want the nap 
And gloss of court ; but of this fire he says, 
Nay swears, it was no wicked wilfulness, 
Only a natural chance. 

Elizabeth. 

A chance — perchance 
One of those wicked wilfuls that men make, 
Nor shame to call it nature. Nay, I know 
They hunt m}^ blood. Save for my daily range 
Among the pleasant fields of Holy Writ 
I might despair. But there hath some one come ; 
The house is all in movement. Hence, and see. 

[^Exit Lady. 



SCENE v.] QUEEN MAP.Y. 159 

Milkmaid {singing loithout), 

Shaine npon yon, Hobin, 

Shame upon yoa now! 
Ejss me avotiUI yon ? with my hands 

Milking" the cow? 

Daisies i;row again, 

Kingcups blow again, 
And you came and kiss'd me milking the cow. 

Ilobin came behind me, 

Kiss'd me well I tow; 
Cuff him could IV with inj hands 

Milking the cow V 

SAvallows fly again, 

Cuckoos cr}- again, 
And you came nnd kiss'd me milking the cow. 

Come, Ilobin, Ilobin, 

Come and kiss me. now; 
Help it can I? with m^^ liands 

Milking the cow V 

Ringdoves coo again, 

All things woo again. 
Come behind and kiss me milking the cow. 

Elizabeth. 

Right honest and recl-check'd ; Ilobin was violent, 

And she was crafty — a sweet violence, 

And a sweet craft. I would I were a milkmaid. 

To sing, love, marr}', churn, brew, bake, and die. 

Then have m}^ simple headstone by the church. 

And all things lived and ended honestly. ^ 

I could nofc if I would. I am Harry's daughter : 



160 QUEEN MARY. [ACT HI. 

Gardiner would have my head. They are not 

sweet, 
The violence and the craft that do divide 
The vrorld of nature ; what is weak must lie ; 
The lion needs but roar to guard his 3'oung ; 
The lapwing lies, says '^here" when they are 

there. 
Threaten the child ; ' ' I'll scourge 3'ou if j'ou did 

it." 
What weapon hath the child, save his soft tongue, 
To sa}', " I did not " ? and my rod's the block. 
I never lay my head upon the pillow 
But that I think, "Wilt thou lie there to-mor- 
row?" 
How oft the falling axe, that never fell, 
riath shock'd me back into the daylight truth 
That it may fall to-day! Those damp, black, dead 
Nights in the Tower ; dead — with the fear of 

death — 
Too dead ev'n for a death-watch ! Toll of a bell, 
Stroke of a clock, the scurrying of a rat 
Affrighted me, and then delighted me. 
For there was life — And there was life in death — 
The little murder'd princes, in a pale light. 
Rose hand in hand, and whisper'd, " come awa}'. 
The civil wars are gone forevermore : 
Thou last of all the Tudors, come awa}'. 
With us is peace ! " The last ? It was a dream , 



SOEKE v.] QtTEEK MAP.Y. 161 

I must not dream, not T\ink, but watch. She 

has gone, 
Maid Marian to her Robin — bj' and by 
Both happ3^ ! a fox ma}' filch a hen by night, 
And make a morning outcry in the 3'ard ; 
But there's no Renard here to " cacch her trip- 
ping." 
Catch me who can ; j'ct, sometime I haye wisJi'd 
That I were caught, and kilFd away at once 
Out of the flutter. The gra}- rogue, Gardiner, 
Went on his knees, and pray'd me to confess 
In Wj'att's business, and to cast myself 
Upon the good Queen's mercy; a\', when, my 

Lord? 
God save the Queen. My jailer — 

Enter Sir Henry Beding field. 

Bedingfield. 

One, whose bolts, 
That jail 3'ou from free life, bar 3'ou from death. 
There haunt some Papist ruffians hereabout 
Would murder 3'ou. 

Elizabeth. 

I thank you heartilj', sir, 
But I am roj-al, tho' your prisoner. 
And God hath blest or cursed me with a nose — 
Your boots are from the horses. 



1G2 QUEEN MABY. [ACT HI. 

BeDIXG FIELD. 

A}', mj Lac\y. 
When next llisre comes a missive from llio 

Queen 
It shall be all ni}' studj' for one hour 
To rose and lavender my horsiness, 
Before I dare to glance upon 3' our Grace. 

Elizacetii. 

A missive from the Queen : last time she vrrote, 
I had like to have lost my life : it takes my 

breath : 
O God, sir, do you look upon your boots, 
Are you so small a man ? Help me : ^vhat think 

Is it life or death ? 

Bedixgfield. 

I thouglit not on my boots ; 
Tlie devil take all boots Avcre ever made 
Since man went barefoot. See, I lay it here, 
For I will come no nearer to ^our Grace ; 

[Ldl/htr/ dovni the lettar. 
And whether it bring you bitter news or sweet, 
And God hath given your Grace a nose, or not, 
I'll help you, if I ma}'. 

Elizabeth. 

Your pardon, then ; 



i 



SCEXE v.] QUEEN MAKY. 163 

It is the lieat and narrowness of the cage 
Tliat makes the captive test}' ; with fi'ce wing 
The wOi'ld were all one Araby. Leave me now, 
Will 30U, companion to myself, sir? 

Bedixgfield. 

Willi? 
With most exceeding willingness, I will ; 
.You know I never come till I be call'd. 



Elizabeth. 

It lies there folded : is there venom in it ? 
A snake — and if I touch it, it ma}^ sting. 
Come, come, the worst ! 
Best wisdom is to know the worst at once. 

[Reads : 

'' It is the King's wish that you should wed 

Prince Philibert of Savo}'. You are to come to 

Court on the instant ; and think of this in 3'our 

coming. '' MaPwY the Queen." 

Think ! I have man}' thoughts ; 

I think there may be birdlime here for me ; 

I tliink they fain would have me from the realm ; 

I think the Queen may never bear a child ; 

I think that I may be sometime the Queen, 

Then, Queen indeed : no foreign prince or priest 

Shoukl fill my throne, myself upon the steps. 



164 QUEEN MABY. [ACT III. 

I think I will not marry any one, 
Spociall}' not this landless Philibert 
Of Savoy ; but, if Philip menace me, 
I think that I will play with Pliilibert, — 
As once (he hoi}' father did with mine, 
Before my father married ni}^ good mother, — 
For fear of Spaiii. 

Enter Lady. 

Lady. 

O Lord ! j'onr Grace, 3*our Grace, 
I feel so happy : it seems that we shall fly 
These bald, blank fields, and dance into the sun 
That shiues on princes. 

Elizabeth. 

Yet, a moment since, 
I wish'd myself the milkmaid singing here. 
To kiss and cuff among the birds and flowers — 
A right rough life and healthful. 

Lady. 

But the wencli 
Hath her own troubles ; she is weeping now ; 
For the wrong Robin took her at her word. 
Then the cow kick'd, and all her milk was spilt. 
Your Hiohness such a milkmaid? 



SCENE VI.] QUEEN MARY. IGo 

Elizabeth. 

I had kept 
M}' Robins and my cows in sweeter order 
Had I been such. 

Lady {slyly). 

And had j'our Grace a Eobin. 

Elizabeth. 

Come, come, 3'ou are chill here ; 3'ou want the 

sun 
That shines at court ; make ready for the journej'. 
Pray God, we 'scape the sunstroke. Read}^ at 

once. [^Exeunt, 



SCENE VI. —LONDON. A ROOM IN THE 
PALACE. 

Lord Petre and Lord Willia^u Howard. 

Petre. 

You cannot see the Queen. Renard denied her, 

Ev'u now to me. 

Howard. 

Their Flemish go-bstwecn 
And all-in-all. I came to thank her Majesty 
For freeing my friend Bagenhall from the Tower ; 



186 QUEEN MARY. [ACT IH. 

A grace to me ! Mercy, that lieib-of-grace, 
Flowers now but seldom. 

Petke. 

O11I3' now perhaps, 
Because tlie Queen liath been three da^'s in tears 
For Philip's going — like the wild hedge-rose 
Of a soft winter, possible, not probable. 
However, you have prov'n it. 

TIOWAKD. 

I must sec her. 
Enter Pexard. 

Penard. 
M3' Lords, 3'ou cannot see her Majest}'. 

Howard. 

Wh}' then the King ! for I would have him brmg it 
Home to the leisure wisdom of his Queen, 
Before he go, that since these statutes past, 
Gardiner out-Gardiners Gardiner in his heat, 
Bonner cannot out-Bonner his ovrn self — 
Beast ! — but they play with fire as children do. 
And burn the house. I hnow that these are 

breeding 
A fierce resolve and fixt heart-hate in men 
Against tlie King, the Queen, the Holy Father, 
The faith itself. Can I not see him ? 



SCEXE VI.] QUEEN MArvY. 1G7 

Not noTT. 
And in fill tills, m3'Lor(l, her Mnjesty 
Is Hint of flint, yon may stril^c firo from her, 
Kot liopo to melt her, I ^vill give yonr message. 
^Exeunt Vetue and Howard. 

Enter riiiLir {inusing) . 

Philip. 

She will not have Prince Pliilibcrt of Savoy, 

I tallvM with her in vain — says she will live 

And die true maid — a goodl}' crcatnrc too. 

Wonld she had been the Queen ! }-et she must 
liave him ; 

She troubles England : that she breathes in Eng- 
land 

Is life and lungs to ever}' rebel birth 

That passes out of embryo. 

Simon Renard ! — 

This Howard, whom they fear, what was he say- 
ing? 

Pexakd. 

"Wliat 3'our imperial father said, my liege, 

To deal ^Yith heresy genllier. Gardiner ])nrns. 

And Bonner burns ; and it would seem this 

people 
Care more for our brief life in their vret land, 



168 QUEEN MAKY. [ACT in. 

Than 3^ours in happier Spain. I told mj Lord 
He should not vex her Highness ; she would say 
These are the means God works with, that His 

church 
May flomish. 

Philip. 

A}^, sir, but in statesmanship 
To strike too soon is oft to miss the blow. 
Thou knowest I bade my chaplain, Castro, preach 
Against these burnings. 

Rexakd. 

And the Emperor 
Approved 3'ou, and when last he wrote, declared 
His comfort in 3'our Grace that you were bland 
And affable to men of all estates, 
In hope to charm them from their hate of Spain. 

Philip. 

In hope to crash all heres}' under Spain. 

But, Renard, I am sicker staying here 

Than any sea could make me passing hence, 

Tho' I be ever deadl3" sick at sea. 

So sick am I with biding for this child. 

Is it the fashion in this clime for women 

To go twelve months in bearing of a child? 

The nurses 3'awn'd, the cradle gaped, they led 

Processions, chanted litanies, clash'd thek bells, 



SCENE VI.] QUEEN MAKY. 169 

Shot off their Ij'ing cannon, and her priests 
Have prcach'd, the fools, of this fair prince to 

C(?me, 
Till, b}' St. James, I find m^'self the fool. 
Wh3^ do 3'ou lift j'our e3^ebrow at me thus ? 

Renard. 
I never saw j'our Highness moved till now. 

Philip. 

So, weary am I of this wet land of theirs. 
And every soul of man that breathes therein. 

Renard. 

My liege, we must not drop the mask before 
The masquerade is over — 

Philip. 

— Have I dropt it? 
I have but shown a loathing face to you, 
Who knew it from the first. 

Enter Mary. 

Mary (aside). 

With Renard. Still 
Parleying with Renard, all the day with Renard, 
And scarce a greeting all the day for me — 
And goes to-morrow. IEaU Mary. 



170 QTJEEX MAPwY. [ACT III. 

FniLip {to Henard, icJio adcances to Jum). 
"Well, sir, is there more? 

IvKXATiD ( icJio has iiCTceivp/1 the Queen). 
Ma}' Simon lleiiard spenk a single ^svord ? 



Ay. 



Philip. 

Eexard. 
And be forgiven for it ? 

PniLir. 

Simon Eenard 
KnoTTs me too well to speak a single word 
Tliat could not be forgiven. 

REXAPtD. 

Well, m}^ lioge, 
Your Grace hath a most chaste and loving wife. 

Philip. 
W^h}' not? The Queen of Philip should be chaste. 

pEXAPtD. 

Ay, but, m}' Lord, you know what Virgil sings, 
Woman is various and most mutable. 

PlHLIP. 

She play the harlot ! never. 



SCENE YI.] QUEEX MAP.Y. 171 

IvEXARD. 

No, sire, no, 
Not drcam'cT of b}' llio rabidest gospoller. 
There was a paper llirown into the pahice, 
^'' The King hath wearied of his barren bride." 
She came upon it, read it, and then rent it, 
With all the rage of one who hates a truth 
lie cannot but allow. Sire, I woukl have 3-ou — 
What should I sa}', I cannot pick my words — 
Be somewhat less — majestic to 3'our Queen. 

PiiiLir. 

Am I to change m}^ manners, Simon Ivcnard, 
Because these islanders are brutal beasts? 
Or would 3-0U have me turn a sonnetleer, 
And warble those brief-sighted eyes of hers? 

Renakd. 

Brief-sighted tho' they be, I have seen them, sire, 
W^hen you perchance were trilling royally 
With some fair dame of court, suddenly fill 
With sueh fierce fire — had it been fire indeed 
It would have burnt both speakers. 

riiiLiP. 

A}', and then? 

IvEXAnp. 

Sire, might it not be polic}' in some matter 



172 QUEEN MARY. [ACT HI. 

Of small importance now and then to cede 
A point to her demand ? 

Philip, 

Well, I am going. 

Rexard. 

For should her love when you are gone, my liege, 
Witness these papers, Ihsre will not be wanting 
Those that will urge her injury — should her 

love — 
And I have known such women more than one — 
Veer to the counterpoint, and jealousy 
Hath in it an alchemic force to fuse 
Almost into one metal love and hate, — 
And she impress her wrongs upon her Council, 
And these again upon her Parliament — 
We are not loved here, and would be then perhaps 
Not so well holpen in our wars with France, 
As else we might be — here she comes. 
Enter Mary. 

M.VRT. 

O Philip ! 
Nay, must you go indeed ? 

Philip. 

Madam, I must. 



SCENE VI.] QUEEK MAKY. 173 

Mary. 

The parting of a husband and a wife 
Is like the cleaving of a heart ; one half 
Will flutter here, one there. 

Philip. 

You say true, Madam. 

Mary. 

The Holy Virgin will not have me yet 

Lose the sweet hope that 1 may bear a prince. 

If such a prince were born and you not here ! 

Philip. 
I should be here if such a prince were born. 

Mary. 
But must you go ? 

Philip. 

Madam, j^ou know my father, 
Retiring into cloistral solitude 
To .yield the remnant of his years to heaven, 
Will shift the 3'oke and weight of all the world 
From off his neck to mine. We meet at Brus- 
sels. 
But since mine absence will not be for long, 
Your Majesty shall go to Dover with me, 
And wait my coming back. 



174 QUEEN MAHY. [ACT lU. 

Mart. 

To Dover? no, 
I am too foGble. I will go to Greenvvicli, 
So you will have me with 3'on ; and there vratch 
All that is gracious in the breath of heaven 
Draw with your sails from our poor land, and 

pass 
And leave me, Philip, with my prayers for 3'ou. 

PiiiLir. 
And doubtless I shall profit bj' 3'our praj'ers. 

Mary. 

Methinks that would you tany one dny more 
(The news was sudden) I could mould m^'self 
To bear your going better ; will 3'ou do it ? 

Philip. 
Madam, a day may sink or save a realm. 

Mary. 

A da}' ma}' save a heart from breaking too. 

Philip. 
TVell, Simon Eenard, shall we stop a da}'? 

PSXARD. 

Your Grace's business will not suffer, sire. 
For one day more, so far as I can tell. 



SCEXE VI.] QUEEX MAr.Y. 175 

rilTLlP. 

Then oiiG da}^ more to pleas 3 her Mnjost}'. 

Mary. 
Tlie snnsliino sweeps neross m}' life again. 

if I knew you felt this partmg, Philip, 

As I do ! 

Philip. 

B3' St. James I do protest, 
Upon the faith and honor of a Spaniard, 

1 am vast!}' grieved to leave 3'our Majcst}'. 
Simon, is supper ready ? 

Eexard, 

Ay, my liege, 
I saw the covers la^'ing. 

Philip. 

Let us have it. 

[_Exeunt. 



ACT IV. 

SCENE I.— A PvOOM IN THE PALACE. 

Mary, Cardinal Pole. 

Mary. 

What have you there ? 



176 QUEEN MARY. [ACT IT. 

Pole. 

So please 3'our Majesty, 
A long petition from the foreign exiles 
To spare the life of Cranmer. Bishop Thirllw, 
And my Lord Paget and Lord William Howard , 
Crave, in the same cause, hearing of 3'our Grace. 
Hath he not written himself — infatuated — 
To sue 3'ou for his life ? 

Mary. 

His life ? Oh, no ; 
Not sued for that — he knows it were in vain. 
But so much of the anti-papal leaven 
Works in him 3'et, he hath pray'd me not to sully 
Mine own prerogative, and degrade the realm 
B}' seeking justice at a stranger's hand 
Against my natural subject. King and Queen, 
To whom he owes his loyalty after God, 
Shall these accuse him to a foreign prince ? 
Death would not grieve him more. I cannot be 
True to this realm of England and the Pope 
Together, says the heretic. 

Pole. 

And there errs ; 
As he hath ever err'd thro' vanit3\ 
A secular kingdom is but as the body 
Lacking a soul ; and in itself a beast. 



SCENE I.] QUEEN MABY. 177 

The Holy Father in a secular kingdom 
Is as the soul descending out of heaven 
Into a bodj^ generate. 

Mart. 

Write to him, then. 

Pole. 
I will. 

Mary. 

And sharpl}^, Pole. 

Pole. 

Here come the Cranmerites ! 

Enter Thirlby, Lord Paget, Lord William 
Howard. 

Howard. 

Health to your Grace. Good-morrow, my Lord 

Cardinal ; 
We make our humble pra3'er unto 3'our Grace 
That Cranmer may withdraw to foreign parts, 
Or into private life within the realm. 
In several bills and declarations, Madam, 
He hath recanted all his heresies. 

Paget. 
^3% ay ; if Bonner have not forged the bills. 

[^Aside. 



178 QUEEN MARY. [ACT lY. 

Maky. 

Did not More die, and Fislior? lie must burn. 

ITOWAKD. 

He bath recanted, Mr. dam. 

Mary. 

The better for bim. 

He bnrns in Purgatoiy, not in llell. 

IIowAnD. 

A}', a}', 3-onr Grace ; but it was never seen . 

That an)' one recanting thus at full, 

As Cranmer bath, came to tbe fire on earth. 

Maky. 
It will be seen now, then. 

TlIIELBY. 

O Madam, Madam ! 
I thus implore 3'on, low upon mylcnees, 
To reach tlie Iiand of mercy to my friend. 
1 have err'd with him ; with him I have recanted. 
Wluit human reason is there why m}' friend 
Should meet with lesser merc}' than myself? 

Maky. 
My Lord of Ely, this. After a riot 
We hang the leaders, let their following go. 



SCB^H I.] QUEEN MARY. 179 

Cranmcr is head and father of these heresies, 
New learning as they call it ; yea, may God 
Forget me at most need ^vhen I foi'get 
Her foul divorce — my sainted mother — No ! — 

Howard. 

A3', ay, but mighty doctors doubted there. 
The Pope himself yraver'd ; and more than one 
Row'd in that gallej^ — Gardiner to wit, 
Whom truly I deny not to have been 
Your faithful friend and trusty councillor. 
Hath not 3'our Highness ever read his book, 
His tractate upon True Obedience, 
Writ by himself and Bonner? 

Mary. 

I will take 
Such order with all bad, heretical books 
That none shall hold them in his house and live, 
Henceforward. No, nw Lord. 

Howard. 

Then never read it. 

The truth is here. Your father was a man 
or such colossal kinghood, 3'et so courteous, 
Except v>hen wroth, you scarce could meet his eye 
And hold your own ; and were he wroth indeed. 
You held it less, or not at all. I say. 
Your f.ither liad a vvill that beat men down ; 
Your father had a brain that beat men down — 




180 QUEEK MARY. [act IV. 

Pole. 
Not me, my Lord. 

Howard. 

No, for joii T^'ere not here ; 
You sit upon this fallen Cranmer's throne ; 
And it \^'ould more become 3'ou, m}' Lord Legate, 
To join a voice, so potent with her Highness, 
To ours in plea for Cranmer than to stand 
On naked self-assertion. 

Mart. 

All 5'oar voices 
Are waves on flint. The heretic must burn. 

Howard. 

Yet once he saved 3'our Majesty's own life ; 
Stood out against the King in your behalf, 
At his own peril. 

Mary. 

I know not if he did ; 
And if he did I care not, my Lord Howard. 
My life is not so happ}', no such boon. 
That I should spare to take a heretic priest's, 
Who saved it or not saved. ^Yhy do you vex me ? 

Paget. 

Yet to save Cranmer were to save the Church, 
Your Majesty's I mean ; he is effaced, 



SCENE I.] QUEEN MARY. 181 

Self-blotted out ; so wounded in his honor. 
He can but creep down into some dark hole 
Like a hurt beast, and hide himself and die ; 
But. if 3'ou burn him, — well, ^our Highness knows 
The saying, " Mart3'r's blood — seed of the 
Church." 

Mary. 

Of the true Church ; but his is none, nor will be. 
You are too politic for me, m}' Lord Paget, 
And if he liave to live so loath' d a life, 
It were more merciful to burn him now. 

TlIIRLBY. 

O 3'et relent. O, Madam, if 3'ou knew him 
As I do, ever gentle, and so gracious, 
With all his learning — 

Mary. 

Yet a heretic still. 
His learning makes his burning the more just. 

TllIRLBY. 

So worshipt of all those that came across him ; 
The stranger at his hearth, and all his house — 

Mary. 

His children and his concubine, belike. 



182 QTJEEX MARY. [ACT IV. 

Thirlby. 

To do him any wrong was to boget 
A kindness from him, for his heart was rich, 
Of such line mould, that if you sow'd therein 
The saed of Hate, it blossom'd Charity. 

Pole. 

"After his kind it costs him nothing," there's 
An old world English adage to the point. 
These are but natural graces, m}' good Bishop, 
Which in the Catholic garden are as flowers, 
But on the heretic dunghill only weeds. 

Howard. 
Such weeds make dunghills gracious. 

Mary. 

Enough, my Lords. 
It is God's will, the Holj^ Father's will. 
And Philip's will, and mine, that he should burn. 
He is pronounced anathema. 

Howard. 

Farewell, Madam, 
G od grant you ampler mercy at your call 
Than you have shown to Cranmer. 

[_Eo:eunt Lords. 



I 



SCENE II.] QUEEN MARY. 183 

Pole. 

After lliis, 
Your Grace will liardl}' care to overlook 
This same petition of the foreign exiles, 
For Craumer's life. 

Mary. 

Make out the writ to-night. 
[_Exeunt. 



SCENE II. — OXFORD. CRANMER IN 
PRISON. 

Crankier. 
Last night, I dream'd the fagots were alight. 
And that myself was fasten' d to the stake, 
And found it all a visionaiy flame. 
Cool as tlie light in old decaying wood ; 
And then King Harry look'd from out a cloud. 
And bade me have good courage ; and I heard 
An angel cr}', " there is more joy in heaven/' — 
And after that, the trumpet of the dead. 

\_Trum.pets icithont, 
AVh}', there are trumpets blowing now : what is it? 
Enter Father Cole. 

Cole. 
Cranmer. I come to question you again ; 



184 QUEEN MAEY. [ACT TV, 

Have 3011 remain'd in the true Catholic Faith 
I left YOU in ? 

Craxmer. 

In the true Catholic faith, 
By Heaven's gi^ace, I am more and more confirm'd. 
Why are the trumpets blowing, Father Cole ? 

Cole. 

Cranmer, it is decided by the Council 

That you to-day should read your recantation 

Before the people in St. Mary's Church. 

And there be man}^ heretics in the town, 

Who loathe 3'ou for 3'our late return to Eome, 

And might assail 3 ou passing through the street, 

And tear 3'ou piecemeal : so you have a guard. 

Cranmer. 
Or seek to rescue me. I thank the Council. 

Cole. 
Do 3'ou lack any mone3" ? 

Cranmer. 

Na3^, why should I ? 
The prison fare is good enough for me. 

Cole. 
A3', but to give the poor. 



SCENE n.] QUEEN MARY. 185 

Cranmer. 

Hand it me, then ! 
I thanli 3'ou. 

Cole. 

For a little space, farewell ; 
Until I see jou in St. Maiy's Church. \^Exit Cole. 

Cranmer. 
It is against all precedent to burn 
One who recants ; they mean to pardon m^. 
To give the poor — they give the poor who die. 
Well, burn me or not burn me I am fixt ; 
It is but a communion, not a mass : 
A holy supper, not a sacrifice ; 
No man can make his Maker — Villa Garcia. 
Enter Villa Garcia. 

Villa Garcia. 
Pray 3'ou write out this paper for me, Cranmer. 

Cranmer. 
Have I not writ enough to satisfy you ? 

Villa Garcia. 
It is the last. 

Cranmer. 

Give it me, then. [//e lorites. 

Villa Garcia. 

Now sign. 



186 queej^ mae-y. [act iv. 

Craxmer. 
I have sign'd enongli, and I ^vill sign no more. 

YlLLA GxVRCIA. 

It is no more than wliat you have sign'd alreadj', 
Tlie public form thereof. 

Craxmer. 

It ma}' be so ; 
I sign it ^vith mj^ presence, if I read it. 

Villa Garcia. 
But lliis is idls of you. Well, sir, well, 
Yt)u are to beg the people to pray for 3'ou ; 
Exhort them to a pure and virtuous life ; 
Declare the Queen's right to the throne ; confess 
Your faith before all your hearers ; and retract 
That Eucharistic doctrine in your book. 
Will 3'ou not sign it now ? 

CrAX3IER. 

No, Villa Garcia, 
I sign no more. Will they have mercy on me? 

Villa GxVrcia. 

Have 3'ou good hopes of merc}- ! So, farewell. 

lExit. 
Craxmer. 

Good hopes, not theirs, have I that I am fixt, 



SCENE II.] QUEEN MAItY. 187 

Fixt l)eyond fall ; however, in strange hours, 
After the long brain-dazing colloquies. 
And thousand-times recurring argument 
Of those two friars ever in my prison. 
When left alone in my despondenc}', 
Without a friend, a book, ray faith would seem 
Dead or half-drown'd, or else swam heavil}' 
Agahist the huge corruptions of the Church, 
Monsters of mistradition, old enough 
To scare me into dreaming, ''what am I, 
Cranmer, against whole ages? " was it so. 
Or am I slandering my most inward friend, 
To veil the fault of my most outward foe — 
The soft and tremulous coward in the flesh? 

higher, holier, earlier, purer church, 

1 have found thee and not leave thee any more. 
It is but a communion, not a mass — 

No sacrifice, but a life-giving feast I 
(Writes.) So, so; this will I sa}^ — thus will I 
pray. [_Futs up the pcqoer. 

Enter Boxner. 

BONXER. 

Good-day, old friend ; what, yon look somcv/hat 

worn : 
And 3'et it is a A^y to test your health 
Ev'n at the best : I scarce have spoken with you 
Since when? — your degradation. At 3'our trial 



188 QUEEN MARY. [ACT lY. 

Never stood up a bolder man than jou ; 

Yon would not cap the Pope's commissioner — 

Your learning, and jonv stoutness, and your 

heres}', 
Dumfounded half of us. So, after that. 
We had to dis-archbishop and unlord, 
And make 3'ou simple Cranmer once again. 
The common barber dipt your hair, and I 
Scraped from 3'our finger-points the hoi}' oil ; 
And worse than all, you had to kneel to me : 
Which was not pleasant for 3'ou, Master Cranmer. 
Now 3'ou, that would not recognize the Pope, 
And 3'ou, that would not own the Real Presence, 
Have found a real presence in the stake, 
Which frights 3'ou back into the ancient faith ; 
And so 3'ou have recanted to the Pope. 
How are the mighty fallen, Master Cranmer! 

Cranmer. 

You have been more fierce against the Pope than I ; 
But why fling back the stone he strikes me with? 

O Bonner, if I ever did 3'ou kindness — 

Power hath been given you to try faith b}' fire — 

Pray you, remembering how 3*ourself have 

changed, 
Be somewhat pitiful, after I have gone. 
To the poor flock — to women and to children — 
That when I was archbishop held with me. 



SCENE n.] QUEEN MAKY. 189 

Bonner. 

Ay — gentle as the}' call 3-011 — live or die ! 
Pitiful to this pitiful lieres}'? 
I must obc}' the Queen and Council, man. 
Win thro' this da}' with honor to yourself, 
And ril say something for you — so — good-by. 

[Exit. 
Cranmer. 

This hard coarse man of old hath crouch'd to me 
Till I myself was half ashamed for him. 

Enter Tiiirlby. 
Weep not, good Thirlby. 

Tiiirlby. 

Oh, my Lord, my Lord ! 
]\Iy heart is no such block as Bonner's is : 
Who would not weep ? 

Cranmer. 

Why do you so my-lord me, 

Who am disgraced ? 

Tiiirlby. 

On earth ; but saved in heaven 

By your recanting. 

Cranmer. 

Will they burn me, Thirlby? 



190 QUEEN MAPvY. [act IV. 

TniRLCY. 

Alas, llic}' will ; these burnings Avill not help 
The i)n]'pose of the lailh ; but my poor voice 
Against them is a Avhisper to the roar 
Or a spring-tide. 

Cr.ANMER. 

And the}' will snrely burn me ? 

TiiinLCT. 

A}' ; and besides, will have you in the church 
Eepeat 3'our recantation in the ears 
Of all men, to the saving of their souls, 
Before 3'our execution. May God help 3-011 
Thro' that hard hour. 

Ckaxmer. 
And. ma}' God bless you, Thirlby. 
Well, the}' shall hear my recantation there. 

[_Exit TlIIRLBT. 

Disgraced, dishonor'd ! —not by them, indeed. 
By mine own self — by mine own hand ! 
O thin-skinnVl hand and jutting veins, 'twas you 
That sign'd the burning of poor Joan of Kent ; 
But then she was a witch. You have written 

much. 
But you were never raised to plead for Frith, 
Whose dogmas I have reach'd : he was delivcr'd 
To the secular arm to burn ; and there was 

Lambert ; 



SCENE III.] quee:n" maey. 191 

Wlio can foresee himself? trul}^ these burnings, 

As Thii'lbj' says, are profitless to the burners. 

And help the other side. You shall burn too, 

Burn first ^vhen I am burnt. 

Fire — inch by inch to die in agony ! Latimer 

IIckI a brief end — not llidley. Hooper burn'd 

Three-quarters of an liour. Will ra}' fjigots 

Be wet as his were? It is a day of rain. 

I will not muse upon it. 

JNI}' ftinc}' takes the burner's part, and makes 

The hre seem even crueller than it is. 

No, I not doubt that God will give mo strength, 

Albeit I have denied him. 

Enter Soto and Yilla Garcia. 

Villa Gaecia. 

We are ready 
To take 3'ou to St. Mary's, Master Cranmer. 

Cranmer. 

And I : lead on ; yo loose me from my bonds. 

\_Exeunt. 



SCENE III. —ST. MARY'S CHURCH. 

Cole in the Pulpit^ Lord Willia3I3 of Thame 
presidlnrj. Loud AYilliam Howard, Lord 
Paget, and others. Craxmer enters hetuseen 



192 QUEEN MABY. [ACT IV. 

Soto and Villa GafwCia, and the ivJioIe 
Choir strll'e tip "Nunc Dimittis." Cran- 
MER IS set \ipon a Scaffold before the people. 

Cole. 
Behold him — \_A pause ; people in the foreground. 

People. 
Oh, unhappy sight ! 

First Protestant. 
See how the tears run down his fatherly face. 

Second Protestant. 

James, didst thou ever see a carrion crow 
Starvil watching a sick beast before he dies? 

First Protestant. 

Him perch'd up there ? I wish some thunderbolt 
"Would make this Cole a cinder, pulpit and all. 

Cole. 

Behold him, brethren : he hath cause to weep ! — 

So have we all : weep with him if ye will, 

Yet — 

It is expedient for one man to die. 

Yea, for the people, lest tlie people die. 

Yet wherefore should he die that hath returned 



SCENE ni.] QUEEN MABY. 193 

To the one Catholic Universal Church, 
Repentant of his errors ? 

Protestant murmurs. 

Ay, tell us that. 

COLE> 

Those of the wrong side will despise the man, 
Deeming him one that thro' the fear of death 
Gave up his cause, except he seal his faith 
In sight of all with flaming martyrdom. 

Cranmer. 

Ay. 

Cole. 

Ye hear him, and albeit there may seem 

According to the canons pardon due 

To him that so repents, jxt are there causes 

Wherefore our Queen and Council at this time 

Adjudge him to the death. He hath been a traitor, 

A shaker and confounder of the realm ; 

And when the King's divorce was sued at Rome^ 

He here, this heretic metropolitan, 

As if he had been the Holy Father, sat 

And judged it. Did I call him heretic? 

A huge heresiarch 1 never was it known 

That any man so writing, preaciihig so, 

So poisoning the Church, so long continuing, 



194 QUEEN MARY. [ACT IV. 

Hath found his pardon ; therefore he must die, 
For warning and example. 

Other reasons 
There be for this man's ending, which our Queen 
And Council at this present deem it not 
Expedient to be known. 

Protestant murmurs, 

I warrant you. 

Cole. 

Take therefore, all, example by this man, 
For if our Holy Queen not pardon him, 
Much less shall others in like cause escape, 
That all of you, the highest as the lowest, 
May learn there is no power against the Lord. 
There stands a man, once of so high degTee, 
Chief prelate of our Church, archbishop, first 
In Council, second person in the realm. 
Friend for so long time of a mighty King ; 
And now 3- e see downfallen and debased 
From councillor to caitiff — fallen so low, 
The leprous flutterings of the b^^wa}^, scum 
And offal of the city would not change 
Estates with him ; in brief, so miserable, 
There is no hope of better left for him, 
No place for worse. 

Yet, Cranmer, be thou glad. 



SCENE III.] QUEEN MxlRY. 195 

This is the ^vork of God. He is glorified 
In thy conversion : lo ! thou art reclaim'd ; 
He brings tliee home : nor fear but that to-day 
Thou shalt receive the penitent thief's award, 
And be with Christ the Lord in Paradise. 
Remember how God made the fierce lire seem 
To those three children like a pleasant dew. 
Remember, too, 

The triumph of St. Andrew on his cross, 
The patience of St. Lawrence in the fire. 
Thus, if thou call on God and all the saints, 
God will beat down the fury of the flame, 
Or give thee saintly strength to undergo. 
And for thy soul shall masses here be sung 
By every priest in Oxford. Pray for him. 

Cranmer. 
A}^ one and all, dear brothers, pray for me ; 
Pray with one breath, one heart, one soul, for me. 

Cole. 
And now, lest any one among you doubt 
The man's conversion and remorse of heart, 
Yourselves shall hear him speak. Speak, Master 

Cranmer, 
Fulfil 3^our promise made me, and proclaim 
Your true undoubted faith, that all may liear. 

Cranmer. 
And that I will. O God, Father of Heaven ! 



19G QUEEN MARY. [ACT IV. 

O Son of God, Redeemer of the world ! 

Holy GLost ! proceeding from them both, 
Three persons and one God, have mercy on me, 
Most miserable smner, wretched man. 

1 have offer. ded against heaven and earth 
More griovousl}^ than any tongue can tell. 
Then whither should I flee for any help ? 

I am ashamod to lift m}^ eyes to heaven, 
And I can 11 nd no refuge upon earth. 
Shall I despair then? — God forbid ! O God, 
For thou art merciful, refusing none 
That come to Thee for succor, unto Thee, 
Therefore, I come ; humble m3^self to Thee ; 
Saying, O I^ord God, although my sins be great, 
For th}^ grer.t mercy have merc}^ ! O God the Son, 
Not for slight faults alone, when thou becamest 
Man in the Flesh, w^as the great m^^ster}" wrought ; 
O God the Father, not for little sins 
Didst thou 3^ield up thy Son to human'death ; 
But for the greatest sin that can be sinn'd. 
Yea, even such as mine, incalculable. 
Unpardonable, — sin against the light. 
The truth of God, which I had proven and known. 
Thy mercy must be greater than all sin. 
Forgive me, Father, for no merit of mine. 
But that Tiiy name b}" man be glorified. 
And Thy most blessed Son's, w^ho died for man. 
Good people, every man at time of death 



SCENE III.] QUEEN MABY. 197 

Would fain set forth some saying that may live 

After his death and better humankind ; 

For death gives life's last word a power to live, 

And, like the stone-cut epitaph, remain 

After the vanished voice, and speak to men. 

God grant me grace to glorify my God ! 

And first I say it is a grievous case, 

Man}^ so dote upon this bubble world, 

Whose colors in a moment break and fly, 

They care for nothing else. What saith St. John : 

" Love of this world is hatred against God." 

Again, I pray you all that, next to God, 

You do unmurmuringiy and willinglj- 

Obey 3^our King and Queen, and not for dread 

Of these alone, but from the fear of Him 

Whose ministers they be to govern you. 

Thirdl}', I pray 3^ou all to love together 

Like brethren ; 3^et what hatred Christian men . 

Bear to each other, seeming not as brethren, 

But mortal foes ! But do 3'ou good to all 

As much as in you lieth. Hurt no man more 

Than you would harm your loving natural brother 

Of the same roof, same breast. If any do, 

Albeit he think himself at home with God, 

Of this be sure, he is whole worlds away. 

Protest A^j t m urinurs . 

What sort of brothers then be those that hist 
To burn each other ? 



198 QUEEN MAHY. [ACT IV. 

Williams. 

Peace among jou, there. 

Cranmer. 
Fourthly, to those that own exceeding wealth, 
Eemember that sore saying spoken once 
By Him that was the truth, " how hard it is 
For the rich man to enter into Heaven ; ' ' 
Let all rich men remember that hard word. 
I have not time for more : if ever, now 
Let them flow forth in charit}', seeing now 
The poor so man}^, and all food so dear. 
Long have I lain in prison, yet have heard 
Of all their wretchedness. Give to the poor, 
Ye give to God. He is with us in the poor. 

And now, and forasmuch as I have come 
To the last end of life, and thereupon 
Hangs all my past, and all my life to be. 
Either to live with Christ in Heaven with joy, 
Or to be still in pain with devils in hell ; 
And, seeing in a moment, I shall find 

[^Pointing upwards 
Heaven or else hell ready to swallow me, 

[^Pointiyig doiumvards. 
I shall declare to you my very faith 
Without all color". 

Cole. 

Hear him, my good brethren. 



SCENE Iir.] QUEEN MARY. 199 

Cranmer. 

1 do believe in God, Father of all ; 
In every article of the Catholic faith, 
And every S3^11able taught us by our Lord, 
His prophets, and apostles, in the Testaments. 
Both Old and New. 

Cole. 

Be plainer, Master Cranmer. 

Cranmer. 

And now I come to the great cause that weighs 
Upon my conscience more than an}" thing 
Or said or done in all my life by me ; 
For there be writings I have set abroad 
Against the truth I knew within my heart, 
Written for fear of death, to save my life. 
If that might be ; the papers by my hand 
Sign'd since my degradation — by this hand 

\_Holding out his right hand. 
Written and sign'd — I here renounce them all ; 
And, since m}" hand offended, having written 
Against my heart, my hand shall first be burnt. 
So I may come to the fire. \^Dead silence. 

Protestant murmurs. 

First Protestant. 
I knew it would be so. 



200 QUEEN MARY. [ACT IV. 

Second Protestant. 

Our prayers are heard ! 

Third Protestant. 

God bless him ! 

Catholic murmurs. 

Out upon him ! out upon him ! 
Liar ! dissembler ! traitor ! to the fire ! 

Williams {raising Ms voice). 

You know tliat you recanted all 3^ou said 
Touching the sacrament in that same book 
You wrote r.gainst my Lord of Winchester ; 
Dissemble not ; play the plain Christian man. 

Cranmer. 
Alas, my Lord, 

I have been a man loved plainness all my life ; 
I did dissemble, but the hour has come 
For utter Irr.th and plainness ; wherefore, I say, 
I hold by all I wrote within that book. 
Moreover, 

As for the Pope I count him Antichrist, 
With all his devil's doctrines ; and refuse, 
Reject him, and abhor him. I have said. 

\_Gries on all sides ^ '' Pull him down ! 
Away with him." 



SCENE III.] QUEEN MARY. 201 

Cole. 
Ay, stop the heretic's mouth. Hale him away. 

Williams. 

Harm him not, harm him not, have him to the fire. 
[Cranmer goes out between Two Friars^ 
smiling ; hands are reached to him 
from the crowd. Lord William 
Howard and Lord Paget are left 
alone in the church, 

Paget. 
The nave and aisles all empt}' as a fool's jest ! 
No, here's Lord William Howard. What, my 

Lord, 
You have not gone to see the burning ! 

Howard. 

Fie ! 

To stand at ease, and stare as at a shaw. 
And watch a good man burn. Never again. 
I saw the deaths of Latimer and Ridley. 
Moreover, tho' a Catholic, I would not, 
For the pure honor of our common nature. 
Hear what I might — another recantation 
Of Cranmer at the stake. 

Paget. 

You'd not hear that. 



202 QUEEIT MARY. [ACT TV. 

He pass'd out smiling, and he walk'd upright ; 
His eye was like a soldier's whom the general 
He looks to and he leans on as his God, 
Hath rated for some backwardness and bidd'n 

him 
Charge one against a thousand, and the man 
Hurls his soil'd life against the pikes and dies. 

Howard. 

Yet that he might not after all those papers 
Of recantation yield again, who knows? 

Paget. 

Papers of recantation, think jou then 
That Cranmer read all papers that he sign'd? 
Or sign'd all those they tell us that he sign'd? 
Na}", I trow not : and j'ou shall see, my Lord, 
That howsoever hero-like the man 
Dies in the fire, this Bonner or another 
Will in some lying fashion misreport 
His ending to the glor}' of their church. 
And you saw Latimer and Ridley die? 
Latimer was eighty, was he not? his best 
Of life was over then. 

Howard. 

His eight}^ 3'ears 
Look'd somewhat crooked on him in his frieze ; 



SCENE III.] QUEEN MARY. 203 

But after they had stript him to his shroud, 

He stood upright, a lad of twent^^-one, 

And gather' d with his hands the starting flame. 

And wash'd his hands and all his face therein, 

Until the powder suddenl}" blew him dead. 

Ridley was longer burning ; but he died 

As manfully and boldly, and 'fore God, 

I know them heretics, but right English ones. 

If ever, as heaven grant, we clash with Spain, 

Our Ridley-soldiers and our Latimer-sailors 

Will teach her something. 

Paget. 

Your mild Legate Pole 

Will tell you that the devil helpt them thro' it. 

[^A murmur of the Crowd in the distance. 

Hark, how those Roman wolf dogs howl and bay 

him. 

Howard. 

Might it not be the other side rejoicing 

In his brave end ? 

Pagp:t. 

They are too crush'd, too broken, 

They can but weep in silence. 

Howard. 

Ay, ay, Paget, 

They have brought it in large measure on them- 
selves. 



204 QUEEN MAKY. [ACT IV. 

Have I not heard them mock the blessed Host 
In songs so lewd, the beast might roar his claim 
To being in God's image, more than they? 
Have I not seen the gamekeeper, the groom, 
Gardener and hnntsman, in the parson's place, 
The parson from his own spire swung out dead, 
And Ignorance crying in the streets, and all men 
Regarding her ? I say they have drawn the fire 
On their own heads : yet, Paget, I do hold 
The Catholic, if he have the greater right, 
Hath been the crueller. 

Paget. 

Action and re-action, 
The miserable see-saw of our child- world. 
Make us despise it at odd hours, m}^ Lord. 
Heaven help that this re-action not re-act, 
Yet fiercelier under Queen Elizabeth, 
So that she come to rule us. 

Howard. 

The world^s mad. 
Paget. 

My Lord, the w^orld is like a drunken man. 
Who cannot move straight to his end — but reels 
Now to the right, then as far to the left, 
Push'd by the crowd beside — and underfoot 
An earthquake ; for since Henry for a doubt — 



SCENE III.] QUEEX MAKY. 205 

Which a jouiig lust had clapt upon the back, 
Crying, "Forward," — set our old church rook- 
ing, men 
Have hardly known what to believe, or whether 
They should believe in an}' thing ; the currents 
So shift and change, the}' see not how they are 

borne, 
Nor whither. I conclude the King a beast ; 
Verily a lion if you will — the world 
A most obedient beast and fool — myself 
Half beast and fool as appertaining to it ; 
Altho' your Lordship hath as little of each 
Cleaving to your original Adam-clay, 
As may be consonant with mortality. 

Howard. 
We talk and Cranmer suffers. 
The kindliest man I ever knew ; see, see, 
I speak of him in the past. Unhappy land ! 
Hard-natured Queen, half Spanish in herself. 
And grafted on the hard-grain'd stock of Spain — 
Her life, since Philip left her, and she lost 
Her fierce desire of bearing him a child, 
Hath, like a brief and bitter winter's day, 
Gone narrowing down and darkening to a close. 
There will be more conspiracies, I fear. 

Paget. 

Ay, ay, beware of France. 



206 QUEEN MAHY. [ACT IV. 

Howard. 

O Paget, Paget ! 
I have seen heretics of the poorer sort, 
Expectant of the rack from day to day, 
To whom the fire were welcome, 1} ing chain'd 
In breathless dungeons over steaming sewers. 
Fed with rank bread that crawl'd upon the tongue, 
And putrid water, ever}^ drop a worm. 
Until they died of rotted limbs ; and then 
Cast on the dunghill naked, and become 
Hideouslj^ alive again from head to heel. 
Made even the carrion-nosing mongrel vomit 
With hate and horror. 

Paget. 

Nay, you sicken me 
To hear you. 

Howard. 

Fancy-sick ; these things are done, 
Done right against the promise of this Queen 
Twice given. 

Paget. 

No faith with heretics, my Lord ! 
Hist ! there be two old gossips — gospellers, 
I take it ; stand behind the pillar here ; 
I warrant 3^ou they talk about the burning. 

Enter Two Old Women. Joan, and after her 
Tib. 



SCENE UI.] QUEEN MARY. 207 

Joan. 
Why, it be Tib. 

Tib. 

I cum behind tha, gall, and couldn't make tha 
hear. Eh, the wind and the wet ! What a day, 
what a day I nigh upo' judgment daay loike. 
Pwoaps be pretty things, Joan, but they wunt set 
i' the Lords' cheer o' that daay. 

Joan. 

I must set down m3^self, Tib ; it be a var waay 

vor my owld legs up vro' Islip. Eh, m}' rheuma- 

tizy be that bad howiver be I to win to the 

burnin'. 

Tib. 

I should saay 'twur ower by now. I'd ha' been 
here avore, but Dumble wur bloAv'd wi' the wind, 
and Dumble's the best milcher in Islip. 

Joan. 
Our Daisy's as good 'z her. 

Tib. 
Noa, Joan. 

Joan. 

Our Daisy's butter's as good 'z hern. 

Tib. 
Noa, Joan. 



208 QUEEN MARY. [ACT lY. 

Joan. 
Our Daisy's cheeses be better. 

Tib. 
Noa, Joan. 

Joan. 

Eh, then ha' thy waay wi' me, Tib ; ez thou 
hast wi' thy owld man. 

Tib. 

Ay, Joan, and my owld man wur up and awaay 
betimes wi' dree hard eggs for a good pleace at 
at the burnin' ; and barrin' the wet. Hodge 'ud 
ha' been a-harrowin' o' white peasen i' the out- 
field — and barrin' the wind, Dumble wur blow'd 
wi' the wind, so 'z we was forced to stick her, 
but we fetched her round at last. Thank the 
Lord therevore. Dumble' s the best milcher in 
Islip. 

Joan. 

Thou's thy way wi' man and beast, Tib. I 
wonder at tha', it beats me ! Eh, but I do know 
ez Pwoaps and vires be bad things ; tell 'ee now, 
I heerd summat as summun towld summun o' 
owld Bishop Gardiner's end ; there wair an owld 
lord a-cum to dine wi' un, and a w^ur so owld a 
couldn't bide vor his dinner, but a had to bide 
howsomiver, vor ''I wunt dine," sa3's my Lord 



SCENE III.] QUEEN MARY. 209 

Bishop, says he, " not till I hears ez Latimer 
and Ridley be a-vire ; " and so the}' bided on and 
on till vour o' the clock, till his man cum in post 
vro' here, and tells un ez the vire has tuk holt, 
" Now,'' saj's the bishop, sa3^s he, " we'll gwo to 
dinner ; " and the owld lord fell to 's meat wi' a 
will, God bless un ; but Gardiner wur struck 
down like by the hand o' God avore a could taste 
a mossel, and a set him all a-vire, so 'z the 
tongue on un cum a-loUuping out o' 'is mouth as 
black as a rat. Thank the Lord, there vore. 

Paget. 

The fools ! 

Tib. 

Ay, Joan ; and Qneen Mary gwoes on a-burn- 
in' and a-burnin,' to git her baab}' born ; but all 
her burnins' 'ill never burn out the h}^ocrisy 
that -makes the water in her. There's nought 
but the vire of God's hell ez can burn out that. 

Joan. 

Thank the Lord, there vore. 

Paget. 
The fools ! 

Tib. 

A-burnin', and a-burnin', and a-makin' o' volk 
madder and madder ; but tek thou my word vor't, 



210 QUEEN MARY. [A.CT lY. 

Joan, — and I bean't wrong not twice i' ten year 
— the burnin' o' the owld archbishop 'ill burn 
the Pwoap out o' this 'ere land vor iver and iver. 

Howard. 

Out of the church, you brace of cursed crones. 
Or I will have 3^ou duck'd. ( Women hurry out,) 

Said I not right ? 
For how should reverend prelate or throned prince 
Brook for an hour such brute malignit}' ? 
Ah, what an acrid wine has Luther brew'd ! 

Paget. 

Pooh, pooh, my Lord ! poor garrulous countr}'-- 

wives. 
Buy 3'ou their cheeses, and they'll side with you ; 
You cannot judge the liquor from the lees. 

Howard. 

I think that in some sort we may. But see, 

Enter Peters. 
Peters, my gentleman, an honest Catholic, 
Who follow' d with the crowd to Cranmer's fire. 
One that would neither misreport nor lie. 
Not to gain paradise : no, nor if the Pope 
Charged him to do it — he is white as death. 
Peters, how pale you look ! 3^ou bring the smoke 
Of Cranmer's burning with 30U. 



SCENE ni.] QUEEN MARY. 211 

Peters. 

Twice or thrice 
The smoke of Cranmer's burning wrapt me round. 

Howard. 

Peters, 3'ou know me Catholic, but English. 
Did he die bravely ? Tell me that, or leave 
All else untold. 

Peters. 

My Lord, he died most bravely. 

Howard. 

Then tell me all. 

Paget. 

Ay, Master Peters, tell us. 

Peters. 

You saw him how he past among the crowd ; 
And ever as he walk'd the Spanish friars 
Still plied him with entreaty and reproach : 
But Cranmer, as the helmsman at the helm 
Steers, ever looking to the happ}- haven 
Where he shall rest at night, moved to his death ; 
And I could see that many silent hands 
Came from the crowd and met his own ; and thus, 
When we had come where Ridley burnt with 

Latimer, 
He, with a cheerful smile, as one whose mind 



212 QUEEK MARY. [ACT IV. 

Is all made up, in haste put off the rags 
They had mock'd his miserj^ with, and all in white. 
His long white beard, which he had never shaven 
Since Henry's death, down-sweeping to the chain. 
Wherewith they bound him to the stake, he stood. 
More like an ancient father of the Church, 
Than heretic of these times ; and still the friars 
Plied him, but Cranmer only shook his head, 
Or answer' d them in smiling negatives ; 
Whereat Lord Williams gave a sudden cr}^ : — 
" Make short ! make short ! " and so they lit the 

wood. 
Then Cranmer lifted his left hand to heaven. 
And thrust his right into the bitter flame ; 
And crying, in his deep voice, more than once, 
'' This hath offended — this unworthy hand 1 " 
So held it till it all was burn'd, before 
The flame liad reach'd his bod}^ ; I stood near — 
Mark'd him — he never uttered moan of pain : 
He never stirr'd or writhed, but, like a statue, 
Unmoving in the greatness of the flame, 
Gave up the ghost ; and so past martyr-like — 
Martyr I ma}^ not call him — past — but whither ? 

Paget. 
To purgator}^, man, to purgatory. 

Peters. 
Nay, but, my Lord, he denied purgatory. 



SCENE I.] QUEEN MARY. 213 

Paget. 
Why then to heaven, and God ha' mercy on him. 

Howard. 

Paget, despite his fearful heresies, 

I loved the the man, and needs must moan for 

him ; 
O Cranmer ! 

Paget. 

But your moan is useless now : 
Come out, my Lord, it is a world of fools. 



ACT V. 

SCENE I.— LONDON. HALL IN THE 
PALACE. 

Queen, Sir Nicpiolas Heath. 

Heath. 
Madam, 

I do assure you, that it must be look'd to : 
Calais is but ill-garrison'd, in Guisnes 
Are scarce two hundred men, and the French fleet 
Rule in the narrow seas. It must be look'd to, 
If war should fall between yourself and France ; 
Or you will lose your Calais. 



214 QUEEN MARY. [ACT V. 

Mary. 

It shall be look'cl to ; 
I wish jou a good-morning, good Sir Nicholas : 
Here is the King. [^Exit Heath. 

Enter Philip. 

Philip. 

Sir Nicholas tells you true, 
And you must look to Calais when I go. 

Mary. 
Go ! must 3'ou go, indeed — again — so soon ? 
Why, nature's licensed vagabond, the swallow. 
That might live always in the sun's warm heart, 
Stays longer here in our poor north than you : — 
Knows where he nested — ever comes again. 

Philip. 
And, Madam, so shall I. 

Mary. 

O, will you? will you? 
I am, faint with fear that 3'ou will come no more. 

Philip. 
Ay, ay ; but many voices call me hence. 

Mary. 
Voices — I hear unhappy rumors — nay, 



SCENE I.] QUEEN MARY. 21") 

I sa}^ not, I believe. What voices call 3'ou 
Dearer than mine that should be clearest to you? 
Alas, m}' Lord ! what voices and how many? 

Philip. 

The voices of Castile and Aragon, 

Granada, Naples, Sicil}', and Milan, — 

The voices of Franche-Comte and the Netherlands, 

The voices of Peru and Mexico, 

Tunis, and Oran, and the Philippines, 

And all the fair spice-islands of the East. 

Mary {admiringly). 
You are the mightiest monarch upon earth, 
I but a little Queen ; and so, indeed. 
Need you the more ; and wherefore could you not 
Helm the huge vessel of your state, my liege, 
Here, by the side of her who loves you most? 

Philip. 
No, Madam, no ! a candle in the sun 
Is all but smoke — a star beside the moon 
Is all but lost ; your people vdll not crown me — 
Your people are as cheerless as 3'our clime ; 
Plate me and mine : witness the brawls, the gib- 
bets. 
Here swings a Spaniard — there an Englishman ; 
The peoples are unlike as their complexion ; 
Yet will I be your swallow and return — 
But now I cannot bide. 



216 QUEEK MARY. [ACT V. 

Mary. 

Not to help me? 
They hate me also for my love to you, 
M}' Philip ; and these judgments on the land — 
Harvestless autumns, horrible agues, plague — 

Philip. 

The blood and sweat of heretics at the stake 
Is God's best dew upon the barren field. 
Burn more ! 

Mary. • 

I will, I will ; and you will stay. 

Philip. 

Have I not said? Madam, I came to sue 
Your Council and yourself to declare war. 

Mary. 

Sir, there are manj^ English in your ranks 
To help your battle. 

Philip. 

So far, good. I say 
I came to sue your Council and 3 ourself 
To declare war against the King of France. 

Mary. 

Not to see me ? 



SCENE I.] QUEEN MARY. 217 

Philip. 

Ay, Madam, to see you. 
Unalterabl}' and pesteringl}^ fond ! lAskle. 

Bat, soon or late you must have war with France ; 
King Henry warms your traitors at his hearth. 
Carew is there, and Thomas Stafford there. 
Courtenay, belike — 

Mary. 

A fool and featherhead ! 

Philip. 

Ay, but they use his name. In brief, this Henry 
Stirs up 3^our land against you to the intent 
That you may lose your English heritage. 
And then, 3^our Scottish namesake marrying 
The Dauphin, he would weld France, England, 

Scotland, 
Into one sword to hack at Spain and me. 

Mary. 

And yet the Pope is now colleagued with France ; 
You make your wars upon him down in Italy : — 
Philip, can that be well? 

Philip. 

Content you. Madam ; 
You must abide my judgment, and my father's, 



218 QUEEN MARY. .[ACT V. 

Who deems it a most just and holy war. 

The Pope would cast the Spaniard out of Naples : 

He calls us worse than Jews, Moors, Saracens. 

The Pope has push'd his horns be3^ond his mitre — 

Beyond his province. Now, 

Duke Alva will but touch him on the horns, 

•And he withdraws ; and of his hol^^ head — 

For Alva is true son of the true church — 

No hair is harm'd. Will you not help me here ? 

Mary. 

Alas ! the Council will not hear of war. 
The}^ sa}^ your wars are not the wars of England. 
They will not lay more taxes on a land 
So hunger-nipt and wretched ; and 3'ou know 
The crow^n is poor. We have given the church- 
lands back : 
The nobles would not ; nay, they clapt their hands 
Upon their swords when ask'd ; and therefore God 
Is hard upon the people. What's to be done? 
Sir, I will move them in your cause again. 
And we will raise us loans and subsidies 
Among the merchants ; and Sir Thomas Gresham 
Will aid us. There is Antwerp and the Jews. 

Philip. 
Madam, my thanks. 

Mary. 

And 3'ou will stay ^^our going ? 



SCENE I.] QUEEN MARY. 219 

Philip. 
And further to discourage and lay lame 
The plots of France, altho' you love her not, 
You must proclaim Elizabeth your heir. 
She stands between you and the Queen of Scots. 

Mary. 
The Queen of Scots at least is Catholic. 

Philip. 
Ay, Madam, Catholic ; but I will not have 
The King of France the King of England too. 

Mary. 
But she's a heretic, and, when I am gone. 
Brings the new learning back. 

Philip. 

It must be done. 

You must proclaim Elizabeth your heir. 

Mary. 
Then it is done ; but you will stay your going 
Somewhat beyond your settled purpose ? 

Philip. 

No! 
Mary. 
What, not one day ? 

Philip. 

You beat upon the rock. 



' 220 QUEEN :>1AE,Y. [ACT V. 

Mary. 
And I am broken there. 

Philip. 

Is this a place 
To wail in, Madam ? what ! a public hall. 
Go in, I pray you. 

Mary. 

Do not seem so changed. 
Say go ; but only say it lovingly. 

Philip. 

You do mistake. I am not one to change. 
I never loved you more. 

Mary. 

Sire, I obey you. 
Come quickly. 

Phm^ip. 

Ay. [Exit Mary, 

Enter Count de Feria. 

Feria (aside) . 
The Queen in tears. 

Philip. 

Feria ! 
Hast thou not mark'd — come closer to mine 
ear — 



SCENE I.] QUEEN MARY. 221 

IIow doubly aged this Queen of ours hath grown 
Since she lost hope of bearing us a child ? 

Feri A . 
Sire, if your Grace hath mark'd it, so have I. 

Philip. 
Hast thou not likewise mark'd Elizabeth, 
How fair and ro^^al — like a Queen, indeed? 

Feri A. 
Allow me the same answer as before — 
That if your Grace hath mark'd her, so have I. 

Philip. 
Good, now ; methinks my Queen is like enough 
To leave me by and by. 

Feri A. 

To leave you, sire? 

Philip. 
I mean not like to live. Elizabeth — 
To Philibert of Savoy, as 3^ou know, 
We meant to wed her ; but I am not sure 
She will not serve me better — so my Queen 
Would leave me — as — my wife. 

Feria. 

Sire, even so. 



222 QUEEN MARY. [ACT V. 

Philip. 
She will not have Prince Philibert of Savoy. 

Feria. 
No, sire. 

Philip. 

I have to pray you, some odd time, 
To sound the Princess carelessly on this ; 
Not as from me, but as 3'our fantasy ; 
And tell me how she takes it. 

Feria. 

Sire, I will. 

Philip. 

I am not certain but that Philibert 
Shall be the man ; and I shall urge his suit 
Upon the Queen, because I am not certain : 
You understand, Feria. 

Feria. 

Sire, I do. 

Philip. 

And if 3'ou be not secret in this matter, 
You understand me there, too? 

Feria. 

Sire, I do. 



SCENE I.] QUEEN MARY. 223 

Philip. 
You must be sweet and supple, like a French- 
man. 
She is none of those who loathe the honej^comb. 

[Exit Feria. 
Enter Renard. 

Renard. 
My liege, I bring 3'ou goodl}' tidings. 

Philip. 

Well. 
Renard. 

There will be war with France, at last, my liege ; 
Sir Thomas Stafford, a bull-headed ass. 
Sailing from France, with thirty Englishmen, 
Hath taken Scarboro' Castle, north of York ; 
Proclaims himself protector, and affirms 
The Queen has forfeited her right to reign 
By marriage with an alien — other things 
As idle ; a weak Wyatt ! Little doubt 
This buzz will soon be silenced ! but the Council 
(I have talk'd with some already) are for war. 
This is the fifth conspiracy hateh'd in France ; 
The}' show their teeth upon it ; and your Grace, 
So 3 ou will take advice of mine, should stay 
Yet for awhile, to shape and guide the event. 

Philip. 
Good ! Renard, I will stay then. 



224 QUEEN MARY. [ACT V. 

Renard. 

Also, sire, 
Might I not say— to please your wife, the Queen? 

Philip. 
Ay, Renard, if you care to put it so. [^Exeunt. 



SCENE H.— A ROOM IN THE PALACE. 

Mary and Cardinal Pole. 
Lady Clarence and Alice in the background, 

Mary. 

Reginald Pole, what news hath plagued thy heart? 
What makes thy favor like the bloodless head 
Fairn on the block, and held up by the hair? 
Philip? — 

Pole. 

No, Philip is as warm in life 
As ever. 

Mary. 

Ay, and then as cold as ever. 

Is Calais taken ? 

Pole. 

Cousin, there hath chanced 
A sharper harm to England and to Rome, 



SCENE II.] QUEEN MARY. 225 

Than Calais taken. Julius the Third 

Was ever just, and mild, and fatherlike ; 

But this new Pope Caraffa, Paul the Fourth, 

Not only reft me of that legateship 

Which Julius gave me, and the legateship 

Annex 'd to Canterbury — na}', but worse — 

And yet I must obe}^ the holy father, 

And so must 3^ou, good cousin ; — worse than all, 

A passing bell toll'd in a dying ear — 

He hath cited me to Rome, for heresy, 

Before his Inquisition. 

Mary. 

I knew it, cousin. 
But held from you all papers sent by Rome, 
That you might rest among us, till the Pope, 
To compass which I wrote myself to Rome, 
Reversed his doom, and that you might not seem 
To disobey his* Holiness. 

Pole. 

He hates Philip ; 
He is all Italian, and he hates the Spaniard ; 
He cannot dream that / advised the war ; 
He strikes thro' me at Philip and ^^ourself. 
Nay, but I know it of old, he hates me too ; 
So brands me in the stare of Christendom 
A heretic ! 



226 QUEEN MAKY. [ACT Y. 

Now, even now, when bow'd before my time. 
The house half-ruin'd ere the lease be out ; 
When I should guide the Church in peace at 

home, 
After my twenty years of banishment. 
And all my lifelong labor to uphold 
The primacy — a heretic. Long ago, 
When I was ruler in the patrimony, 
I was too lenient to the Lutheran, 
And I and learned friends among ourselves 
Would freely canvass certain Lutheranisms. 
What then, he knew I was no Lutheran. 
A heretic ! 

He drew this shaft against me to the head, 
When it was thought I might be chosen Pope, 
But then withdrew it. In full consistory. 
When I was made Archbishop, he approved me. 
And how should he have sent me Legate hither. 
Deeming me heretic ? and what heresy since ? 
But he was evermore mine enemy. 
And hates the Spaniard — fiery-choleric, 
A drinker of black, strong, volcanic wines, 
That ever make him fierier. I, a heretic ! 
Your Highness knows that in pursuing heresy 
I have gone be^^ond your late Lord Chancellor, — 
He cried enough ! enough ! before his death. — 
Gone bej'ond him and mine own natural man 
(It was God's cause) ; so far they call me now, 
The scourge and butcher of their P^nglish church. 



SCENE II.] QUEEN MARY. 227 

Mary. 
Have courage, your reward is Heaven itself. 

Pole. 
They groan amen ; they swarm into the fire 
Like flies — for what? no dogma. They know 

nothing. 
They burn for nothing. 

Mary. 

You have done 3'our best. 

Pole. 
Have done my best, and as a faithful son. 
That all day long hath wrought his father's work, 
When back he comes at evening hath the door 
Shut on him by the father whom he loved, 
His early follies cast into his teeth, 
And the poor son turn'd out into the street 
To sleep, to die — I shall die of it, cousin. 

Mary. 

I pray you be not so disconsolate ; 

I still will do mine utmost with the Pope. 

Poor cousin. 

Have I not been the fast friend of your life 

Since mine began, and it was thought we two 

Might make one flesh, and cleave unto each other 

As man and wife. 



228 QUEEN MARY. [ACT Y. 

^ Pole. 

Ah, cousin, I remember 
How I would dandle jou upon my knee 
At lisping-age. I watcli'd 3'ou dancing once 
With jour huge father ; he look'd the Great 

Harr}^, 
You but his cockboat ; prettily you did it, 
And innocently. No — we were not made 
One flesh in happiness, no happiness here ; 
But now we are made one flesh in misery ; 
Our bridemaids are not lovelj' — Disappointment, 
Ingratitude, Injustice, Evil-tongue, 
Labor-in-vain. 

Mary. 

Surel}^, not all in vain. 
Peace, cousin, peace ! I am sad at heart mj^self. 

Pole. 

Our altar is a mound of dead men's clay, 
Dug from the grave that yawns for us beyond ; 
And there is one Death stands behind the Groom, 
And there is one Death stands behind the Bride — 

Mary. 
Have 3'ou been looking at the " Dance of 

Death''? 

Pole. 

No ; but these libellous papers which I found 



SCENE II.] QUEEN MABY. 229 

Strewn in your palace. Look you here — the 

Pope 
Pointing at me with " Pole, the heretic, 
Thou hast burnt others, do thou burn thyself, 
Or I will burn thee," and this other ; see ! — 
' ' We pray continuall}^ for the death 
Of our accursed Queen and Cardinal Pole." 
This last — I dare not read it her. [_Aside, 

Mary. 

Awa}^ ! 
Why do 3'ou bring me these ? 
I thought 3 ou knew me better. I never read, 
I tear them ; they come back upon my dreams. 
The hands that write them should be burnt clean 

off 
As Cranmer's, and the fiends that utter them 
Tongue-torn with pincers, lash'd to death, or lie 
Famishing in black cells, w^hile famish'd rats 
Eat them alive. Why do they bring me these? 
Do you mean to drive me mad ? 

Pole. 

I had forgotten 
How these poor libels trouble 3 ou. Your pardon 
Sweet cousin, and farewell ! '' O bubble world, 
Whose colors in a moment break and ^3' ! " 
Wh3^, who said that? I know not — true enough ! 
[^Piits up the papers^ all but the last^ ivhich falls. 
Exit Pole. 



230 QUEEK MAHY. [ACT V. 

Alice. 

If Cranmer's spirit were a mocking one, 
And heard these two, there might be sport for 
him. [^Aside, 

Mary. 

Clarence, they hate me ; even while I speak 
There lurks a silent dagger, listening- 
in some dark closet, some long gallery, drawn, 
And panting for my blood as I go by. 

Lady Clarence. 
Nay, Madam, there be loyal papers too, 
And I have often found them. 

' Mary. 

Find me one ! 
Lady Clarence. 
Ay, Madam ; but Sir Nicholas Heath, the Chan- 
cellor, 
Would see your Highness. 

Mary. 

Wherefore should I see him? 

Lady Clarence. 
Well, Madam, he may bring you news from Philip. 

Mary. 
So, Clarence. 



SCENE II.] QUEEN MARY. 231 

Lady Clarence. 

Let me first put up your hair ; 
It tumbles all abroad. 

Mary. 

And the gray dawn 
Of an old age that never will be mine 
Is all the clearer seen. No, no ; what matters? 
Foiiorn I am, and let me look forlorn. 
Enter Sir Nicholas Heath. 

Heath. 

I bring 3^our Majest}'' such grievous news 

I grieve to bring it. Madam, Calais is taken. 

Mary. 

What traitor spoke? Here, let m}^ cousin Pole 
Seize him and burn him "for a Lutheran. 

Heath. 
Her Highness is unwell. I will retire. 

Lady Clarence. 
Madam, your chancellor, Sir Nicholas Heath. 

Mary. 

Sir Nicnolas? I am stunn'd — Nicholas Heath? 
Methought some traitor smote me on the head. 



232 QUEEN MARY. [ACT V. 

What said you, my good Lord, that our brave 

English 
Had sallied out from Calais and driven back 
The Frenchmen from their trenches ? 

Heath. 

Alas ! no. 
That gateway to the mainland over which 
Our flag hath floated for two hundred years 
Is France again. 

Mary. 

So ; but it is not lost — 
Not 3^et. Send out : let England as of old 
Rise lionlike, strike hard and deep into 
The prey they are rending from her — a}^, and 

rend 
The renders too. Send out, send out, and make 
Musters in all the counties ; gather all 
From sixteen years to sixty ; collect the fleet ; 
Let every craft that carries sail and gun 
Steer toward Calais. Guisnes is not taken 3^et? 

Heath. 
Guisnes is not taken yet. 

Mary. 

There yet is hope. 
Heath. 
Ah, Madam, but your people are so cold ; 



I 



SCENE II.] QUEEN MARY. 233 

I do much fear that England will not care. 
Methinks there is no manhood left among us. 

Mary. 

Send out ; I am too weak to stir abroad : 
Tell my mind to the Council — to the Parliament : 
Proclaim it to the winds. Thou art cold th^^self 
To babble of their coldness. O would I were 
My father for an hour ! Away now — quick ! 

[^Exit Heath. 
I hoped I had served God with all my might I 
It seems I have not. Ah ! much heresy 
Shelter' d in Calais. Saints, I have rebuilt 
Your shrines, set up your broken images ; 
Be comfortable to me. Suffer not 
That my brief reign in England be defamed 
Thro' all her angry chronicles hereafter 
By loss of Calais. Grant me Calais. Philip, 
We have made war upon the Holy Father 
All for your sake : what good could come of that ? 

Lady Clarence. 

No, Madam, not against the Hol}^ Father; 

You did but help King Philip's war with France. 

Your troops were never down in Italy. 

Mary. 
I am a byword. Heretic and rebel 



234 QUEEN MARY. [ACT V. 

Point at me and make meriy. Philip gone ! 
And Calais gone ! Time that I were gone too ! 

Lady Clarence. 
Nay, if the fetid gutter had a voice 
And cried I was not clean, what should I care? 
Or 3 ou, for heretic cries ! And I believe, 
Spite of your melancholy Sir Nicholas, 
Your England is as lo3^al as mj^self. 

Mary {seeing the paper dropt hy Pole) . 
There, there ! another paper ! Said you not 
Many of these were I03' al ? Shall I try 
If this be one of such? 

Lady Clarence. 

Let it be, let it be. 
God pardon me ! I have never yet found one. 

\_ Aside, 
Mary {reads). 

''Your people hate 3'ou as your husband hates 

you." 
Clarence, Clarence, what have I done? what sin 
Bej^ohd all grace, all pardon? Mother of God, 
Thou knowest never woman meant so well, 
And fared so ill in this disastrous world. 
My people hate me and desire my death. 

Lady Clarence. 
No, Madam, no. 



► 



SCENE II.] QUEEN MAKY. ^35 

Mary. 
My husband hates me, and desires my death. 

Lady Clarence. 
No Madam ; these are libels. 

Mary. 
I hate myself, and I desire my death. 

Lady Clarence. 
Long live 3^our Majesty ! Shall Alice sing you 
One of her pleasant songs? Alice, my child, 
Bring us your lute (Alice goes) . They say the 

gloom of Saul 
Was lighten' d by young David's harp. 

Mary. 

Too young ! 

And never knew a Philip {re-enter Alice). 

Give me the lute. 
He hates me ! 

(She sings.) 

Hapless doom of woman happy in betrothing ! 

Beauty passes like a breath and love is lost in loathing : 

Low, my lute ; speak low, my lute, but say the world is 
nothing — 

Low, lute, low ! 

Love will hover round the flowers when they first awaken ; 

Love will fly the fallen leaf, and not be overtaken ; 

Low, my lute! oh low, my lute! we fade and are for- 
saken — 

Low, dear lute, low! 

Take it away ! not low enough for me ! 



236 



QUEEN MARY. 



[act V. 



Alice. 
Your Grace hath a low voice. 



Mary. 

How dare you say it? 
Even for that he hates me. A low voice 
Lost in a wilderness where none can hear ! 
A voice of shipwreck on a shoreless sea ! 
A low voice from the dust and from the grave. 

{sitting on the ground) . 
There, am I low enough now? 

Alice. 
Good Lord ! how grim and ghastly looks her 

Grace, 
With both her knees drawn upward to her chin. 
There was an old- world tomb beside my father's, 
And this was open'd, and the dead were found 
Sitting, and in this fashion ; she looks a corpse. 
Enter Lady Magdalen D acres. 

Lady Magdalen. 

Madam, the Count de Feria waits without. 
In hopes to see your Highness. 

Lady Clarence (pointing to Mary). 

Wait he must — 
Her trance again. She neither sees nor hears, 
And may not speak for hours. 



SCENE II.] QUEEN MARY. 237 

Lady Magdalen. 

Unhappiest 
Of Queens and wives and women. 

Alice {in the foreground with Lady Magdalen) . 

And all along 
Of Philip. 

Lady Magdalen. 

Not so loud ! Our Clarence there 
Sees ever such an aureole round the Queen, 
It gilds the greatest wronger of her peace, 
"Who stands the nearest to her. 

Alice. 

Ay, this Philip ; 
I used to love the Queen with all m}^ heart — 
God help me, but methinks I love her less 
For such a dotage upon such a man. 
I would I were as tall and strong as 3'ou. 

Lady Magdalen. 
I seem half-shamed at times to be so tall. 

Alice. 
You are the stateliest deer in all the herd — 
Be3^ond his aim — but I am small and scandalous, 
And love to hear bad tales of Philip. 

Lady Magdalen. 

Why? 



238 



QUEEN MARY. 



[act V. 



I never heard him utter worse of you 
Than that you y> ere low-statured. 

Alice. 

Does he think 
Low stature is low nature, or all women's 
Low as his own ? 

Lady Magdalen. 

There you strike in the nail. 
This coarseness is a want of fantasy. 
It is the low man thinks the woman low ; 
Sin is too dull to see to see beyond himself. 

Alice. 

Ah, Magdalen, sin is bold as well as dull. 
How dared he ? 

Lady Magdalen. 

Stupid soldiers oft are bold. 
Poor lads, they see not what the general sees, 
A risk of utter ruin. I am not 
Beyond his aim, or was not. 

Alice 

Who? Not you? 
Tell, tell me : save my credit with myself. 

Lady Magdalen. 

I never breathed it to a bird in the eaves, 
Would not for all the stars and maiden moon 



SCENE II.] QUEEN MARY. 239 

Our drooping Queen should know ! In Hampton 

Court 
My window look'd upon the corridor ; 
And I was robing ; — this poor throat of mine, 
Barer than I should wish a man to see it, — 
When he we speak of drove the window back. 
And, like a thief, push'd in his ro^al hand ; 
But by God's providence a good stout staff 
Lay near me ; and you know me strong of arm ; 
1 do believe I lamed his Majesty's 
For a da}^ or two, tho', give the Devil his due, 
I never found he bore me any spite. 

Alice. 

I would she could have wedded that poor youth. 
My Lord of Devon — light enough, God knows, 
And mixt with W3^att's rising — and the bo}' 
Not out of him — but neither cold, coarse, cruel, 
And more than all — no Spaniard . 

Lady Clarence. 

Not so loud. 

Lord Devon, girls ! what are 3^ou whispering 

here? 

Alice. 

Probing an old state-secret — how it chanced 
That this young Earl was sent on foreign travel, 
Not lost his head. 



240 QUEEN MARY. [ACT V. 

Lady Clarence. 

There was no proof against him. 

Alice. 

Nay, Madam ; did not Gardiner intercept 
A letter which the Count de Noailles wrote. 
To that dead traitor, Wjatt, with full proof 
Of Courtenaj's treason? What became of that? 

Lady Clarence. 

Some say that Gardiner, out of love for him, 

Burnt it, and some relate that it was lost 

When Wyatt sack'd the Chancellor's house in 

Southwark. 
Let dead things rest. 

Alice. 

Ay, and with him who died 
Alone in Ital3^ 

Lady Clarence. 

Much changed, I hear, 
Had put off levity and put graveness on. 
The foreign courts report him in his manner 
Noble as his 3^oung person and old shield. 
It might be so — but all is over now ; 
He caught a chill in the lagoons of Venice, 
And died in Padua. 



SCENE II.] QUEEN MARY. 241 

Mary {looking up suddenly) . 

Died in the true faith? 

Lady Clarence. 
Ay, Madam, happily 

Mary. 
Happier he thau I. 

Lady Magdalen. 

It seems her Highness hath awaken' d. Think you 
That I might dare to tell her that the Count — 

Mary. 

I will see no man hence forevermore, 
Saving m}^ confessor and my cousin Pole. 

Lady Magdalen. 
It is the Count de Feria, my dear lady. 

Mary. 

What Count? 

Lady Magdalen. 

The Count de Feria, from his Majesty 
King Philip. 

Mary. 

Philip ! quick ! loop up my hair ! 
Throw cushions on that seat, and make it throne- 
like. 



242 QUEEN MARY. [ACT V. 

Arrange m}" dress — the gorgeous Indian shawl 
That Philip brought me in our happy days I — 
That covers all. So — am I somewhat Queen- 
like, 
Bride of the mightiest sovereign upon earth? 

Lady Clarence. 
A}^ so 3^our Grace would bide a moment yet. 

Mary. 

No, no, he brings a letter. I ma}^ die 
Before I read it. Let me see him at once. 
Enter Coxj^T de Ferta {kneels). 

Feria. 

I trust your Grace is well, (aside) How her 
hand burns. 

Mary. 

I am not well, but it will better me. 

Sir Count, to read the letter which j^ou bring. 

Feria. 
Madam, I bring no letter. 

Mary. 

How ! no letter? 
Feria. 

His Highness is so vex'd with strange affairs — 



SCENE III.] QUEEN MARY. 243 

Mary. 

That his own wife is no affair of his. 

Feria. 

Na}^, Madam, nay ! he sends his veriest love, 
And says he will come quickly. 

Mary. 

Doth he, indeed? 
You, sir, do you remember what you said 
When last 3'ou came to England ? 

Feria. 

Madam, I brought 
M}" King's congratulations ; it was hoped 
Your Highness was once more in happy state 
To give him an heir male. 

Mary. 

Sir, you said more ; 
You said he would come quickly. I had horses 
On all the road from Dover, da}' and night ; 
On all the road from Harwich, night and day ; 
But the child came not, and the husband came not ; 
And yet he will come quickly. . . . Thou hast 

learnt 
Thy lesson, and I mine. There is no need 
For Philip so to shame himself again. 
Return, 



244 QUEEN MARY. [ACT V. 

And tell him that I know he comes no more, 
Tell him at last I know his love is dead, 
And that I am in state to bring forth death — 
Thou art commission' d to Elizabeth, 
And not to me ! 

Feria. 

Mere compliments and wishes. 
But shall I take some message from your Grace ? 

Mary. 

Tell her to come and close my dying eyes, 
And wear my crown, and dance upon my grave. 

Feria. 
Then I may say 3' our Grace will see 3^our sister ? 
Your Grace is too low-spirited. Air and sun- 
shine. 
I would we had you, Madam, in our warm Spain. 
You droop in 3'our dim London. 

Mary. 

Have him away. 

I sicken of his readiness. 

Lady Clarence. 

My Lord Count, 
Her Highness is too ill for colloquy. 

Feria (kneels^ and kisses her hand) . 

I wish her Highness better, (aside) How her hand 

burns. \_Exeunt. 



SCENE III.] QUEEN MABY. 245 

SCENE III.— A HOUSE NEAR LONDON. 

Elizabeth, Steward of the Household, 
Attendants. 

Elizabeth. 

There's half an angel wrong'd in jour account ; 
Methinks I am all angel, that I bear it 
Without more ruffling. Cast it o'er again. 

Steward. 

I were whole devil if I wrong'd 3'ou, Madam. 

[_Exii Steward. 
Attendant. 

The Count de Feria, from the King of Spain. 

Elizabeth. 

Ah ! — let him enter. Na3% 3^ou need not go : 

[_To her Ladies. 
Remain within the chamber, but apart. 
We'll have no private conference. Welcome to 
England ! 

Enter Feria. 

Fair island star. 

Elizabeth. 

I shine ! What else. Sir Count? 



246 QUEEN MARY. [ACT V. 

Feria. 

As far as France, and into Philip's heart. 
My King would know if 3 ou be fairly served, 
And lodged, and treated. 

Elizabeth. 

You see the lodging, sir. 
I am well-served, and am in ever}^ thing 
Most loyal and most grateful to the Queen. 

Feria. 
You should be grateful to my master, too, 
He spoke of this ; and unto him you owe 
That Mary hath acknowledged you her heir. 

Elizabeth. 
No, not to her nor him ; but to the people, 
"Who know my right, and love me, as I love 
The people ! whom God aid ! 

Feria. 

You will be Queen, 
And, were I Philip — 

Elizabeth. 

Wherefore pause you — what ? 

Feria. 
Nay, but I speak from mine own self, not him : 



SCENE III.] QUEEN MARY. 247 

Your ro3^al. sister cannot last ; j-^our hand 
Will be much coveted ! What a delicate one ! 
Our Spanish ladies have none such — and there, 
Were you in Spain, this fine fair gossamer 

gold — 
Like sun-gilt breathings on a frosty dawn — 
That hovers round 3 our shoulder — 



Elizabeth. 



Is it so fine? 



Troth, some have said so. 

Feria. 
— would be deemed a miracle. 

Elizabeth. 

Your Philip hath gold hair and golden beard, 
There must be ladies many with hak like mine, 

Feria. 

Some few of Gothic blood have golden hair. 
But none like yours. 

Elizabeth. 

I am happy you approve it. 

Feria. 
But as to Philip and your Grace — consider, — 
If such a one as you should match with Spain, 



248 QUEEN MARY. [ACT V. 

What hinders but that Spain and England join'd, 

Should make the mightiest empire earth has 
known. 

Spain would be England on her seas, and Eng- 
land 

Mistress of the Indies. 

Elizabeth. 

It ma}' chance, that England 
Will be mistress of the Indies yet, 
Without the help of Spain. 

Feria. 

Impossible ; 
Except you put Spain down. 
Wide of the mark ev'n for a madman's dream. 

Elizabeth. 

Perhaps ; but we have seamen. Count de Feria, 
I take it that the King hath spoken to jon ; 
But is Don Carlos such a goodly match ? 

Feria. 
Don Carlos, Madam, is but twelve years old. 

Elizabeth. 
Ay, tell the King that I will muse upon it ; 
He is m}^ good friend, and I would keep him so ; 
But — he would have me Catholic of Rome, 



SCENE III.] QUEEN MAKY. 249 

And that I scarce can be ; and, sir, till now 
My sister's marriage, and m}^ father's marriages, 
Make me full fain to live and die a maid. 
But I am much beholden to 3^our King. 
Have 3'ou aught else to tell me ? 

Feria. 

Nothing, Madam, 
Save that methought I gather'd from the Queen 
That she would see j^our Grace before she — 
died. 

Elizabeth. 

God's death ! and wherefore spake you not before ? 
We dally with our lazy moments here, 
And hers are number'd. Horses there, without ! 
I am much beholden to the King, your master. 
Why did you keep me prating? Horses, there ! 

[^Exit Elizabeth, &c. 

Feria. 

So from a clear sky falls the thunderbolt ! 
Don Carlos? Madam, if you marry Philip, 
Then I and he will snaffle your "• God's death," 
And break your paces in, and make you tame ; 
God's death, forsooth — you do not know King 
Philip. [Exit. 



250 QUEEN MARY. [ACT V. 

SCENE IV.— LONDON. BEFORE THE 
PALACE. 

A light hurning within. Voices of the night 
passing. 

First. 
Is not jon light in the Queen's chamber ? 

Second. 

Ay, 

They say she's djing. 

First. 

So is Cardinal Pole. 
May the great angels join their wings, and make 
Down for their heads to heaven ! 

Second. 

Amen. Come on. 

\_Exeunt. 
Two Others. 

First. 
There's the Queen's light. I hear she cannot live. 

Second. 

God curse her and her Legate ! Gardiner burns 
Already ; but to paj' them full in kind, 



SCENE IV.] QUEEN MARY. 251 

The hottest hold in all the devil's den 
Were but a sort of winter ; sir, in Guernsey, 
I watch'd a woman burn ; and in her agony 
The mother came upon her — a child was born — 
And, sir, they hmi'd it back into the fire, 
That, being but baptized in fire, the babe 
Might be in fire forever. Ah, good neighbor, 
There should be something fierier than fire 
To yield them their deserts. 

First. 

Amen to all 
You wish, and further. 

A Third Voice. 

Deserts ! Amen to what ? Whose deserts ? 
Yours ? You have a gold ring on your finger, 
and soft raiment about 3'Our bod}^ ; and is not the 
woman up 3^onder sleeping after all she has done, 
in peace and quietness, on a soft bed, in a closed 
room, with light, fire, phj^sic, tendance ; and I 
have seen the true men of Christ lying famine- 
dead by scores, and under no ceiling but the 
cloud that wept on them, not for them. 

First. 

Friend, tho' so late, it is not safe to preach. 
You had best go home. What are you? 



262 



QUEEN MARY. 



[act V. 



Third. 

What am I ? One who cries continually with 
sweat and tears to the Lord God that it w^ould 
please Him out of His infinite love to break down 
all kingship and queenship, all priesthood and 
prelacy ; to cancel and abolish all bonds of human 
allegiance, all the magistracy, all the nobles, and 
all the wealthy ; and to send us again, according 
to his promise, the one King, the Christ, and all 
things in common, as in the day of the first 
church, when Christ Jesus was King. 

First. 
If ever I heard a madman, — let's aw^ay ! 
Wh}^, you long-winded — Sir, you go be3^ond 

me. 
I pride myself on being moderate. 
Good-night ! Go home. Besides, you curse so 

loud, 
The w^atch will hear 3^ou. Get jou home at once. 

[_Exeunt, 



SCENE V. — LONDON. A ROOM IN THE 
PALACE. 



A Gallery on one side. The moonlight streaming 
through a range of windows on the wall op- 



SCENE v.] QUEEN MARY. 253 

posite, Mary, Lady Clarence, Lady Mag- 
dalen Dacres, Alice. Queen pacing the 
Gallery. A writiiig'tahle in front. Queen 
comes to the table and writes and goes again ^ 
pacing the Gallery 

Lady Clarence. 
Mine eyes are dim : what hath she written? read. 

Alice. 
" I am dying, Philip ; come to me." 

Lady Magdalen. 
There — up and down, poor lady, up and down. 

Alice. 

And how her shadow crosses one by one 
The moonlight casements patterned on the wall, 
Following her like her sorrow. She turns again. 
[Queen sits and ivrites^ and goes again. 

Lady Clarence. 
What hath she WTitten now ? 

Alice. 

Nothing ; but " come, come, come," and all awry, 
And blotted by her tears. This cannot last. 

[Queen returns. 



254 QUEEN MARY. [ACT V. 

Mary. 

I whistle to the bird has broken cage, 
And all in vain. \_Sitting down. 

Calais gone — Giiisnes gone, too — and Philip 
gone ! 

Lady Clarence. 

Dear Madam, Philip is but at the wars ; 
1 cannot doubt but that he comes again ; 
And he is with you in a measure still. 
I never look'd upon so fair a likeness 
As 3'our great King in armor there, his hand 
Upon his helmet. 
[^Pointing to the portrait of Philip on the wall, 

Mary. 

Doth he not look noble ? 
I had heard of him in battle over seas. 
And I would have my warrior all in arms. 
He said it was not courtlj' to stand helmeted 
Before the Queen. He had his gracious moment, 
Altho' 3'ou'll not believe me. How he smiles 
As if he loved me yet ! 

Lady Clarence. 

And so he does. 

Mary. 
He never loved me — na}', he could not love me. 



SCENE v.] QUEEN MAKY. 255 

It was his father's policy against France. 

I am eleven years older than he, 

Poor boy. [ Weeps. 

Alice. 

That was a lust}^ boy of twenty-seven ; \^Aside; 
Poor enough in God's grace ! 

Mary. 

— And all in vain ! 
The Queen of Scots is married to the Dauphin, 
And Charles, the lord of this low world is gone ; 
And all his wars and wisdoms past away ; 
And in a moment I shall follow him. 

Lady Clarence. 
Nay, dearest Lady, see 3'our good ph3'sician. 

Mary. 

Drugs — but he knows the}^ cannot help me — 

says 
That rest is all — tells me I must not think — 
That I must rest — I shall rest by and hj. 
Catch the wild cat, cage him, and when he springs 
And maims himself against the bars, say '' rest : " 
Why, you must kill him if 3^ou would have him 

rest — 
Dead or alive you cannot make him happy. 



256 QUEEN MARY. [ACT V. 

Lady Clarence. 
Your Majest}^ has lived so pure a life, 
And done such mighty things b}^ Holy Church, 
I trust that God will make you happy yet, 

Mary. 

What is the strange thing happiness? Sit down 

here ; 
Tell me thine happiest hour. 

Lady Clarence. 

I will, if that 
Ma}^ make your Grace forget ^^ourself a little. 
There runs a shallow brook across our field 
For twenty miles, where the black crow flies five, 
And doth so bound and babble all the wa}^ 
As if itself were happ}^ It was Maj^-time, 
And I was walking with the man I loved. 
I loved him, but I thought I was not loved. 
And both were silent, letting the wild brook 
Speak for us — till he stoop'd and gather'd one 
From out a bed of thick forget-me-nots, 
Look'd hard and sweet at me, and gave it me, 
I took -it, tho' I did not know I took it. 
And put it in my bosom, and all at once 
I felt his arms about me, and his lips — 

Mary. 
O God ! I have been too slack, too slack ; 



SCENE Y.] QUEEN MARY. 25T 

There are Hot Gospellers even among our 

guards — 
Ifobles we dared not touch. We have but burnt 
The heretic priest, workmen, and women and 

children. 
Wet, famine, ague, fever, storm, wreck, wrath, — 
We have so play'd the coward ; but by God's 

grace. 
We'll follow Philip's leading, and set up 
The Hol}^ Office here — garner the wheat, 
And burn the tares with unquenchable fire ! 
Burn ! — 

Fie, what a savor ! tell the cooks to close 
The doors of all the offices below. 
Latimer ! 

Sir, we are private with our women here — 
Ever a rough, blunt, and uncourtly fellow — 
Thou light a torch that never will go out ! 
'Tis out — mine flames. Women, the Holy 

Father 
Has ta'en the legateship from our cousin Pole — 
Was that well done? and poor Pole pines of it, 
As I do, to the death. I am but a woman, 
I have no power. — Ah, weak and meek old man, 
Sevenfold dishonor' d even in the sight 
Of thine own sectaries — No, no. No pardon ! — 
Why that was false : there is the right hand still 
Beckons me hence. 



258 QUEEK MARY. [ACT Y, 

Sir, 3'ou were burnt for heresy, not for treason, 
Remember that ! 'twas I and Bonner did it, 
And Pole ; we are three to one — Have you 

found mercy there, 
Grant it me here : and see he smiles and goes, 
Gentle as in life. 

Alice. 

Madam, who goes ? King Philip ? 

Mary. 

No, Philip comes and goes, but never goes. 

Women, when I am dead. 

Open m}^ heart, and there 3'ou will find written 

Two names, Philip and Calais ; open his, — 

So that he have one, — 

You will find Philip onl}', policy, policy, ■ — 

A}^ worse than that — not one hour true to me ! 

Foul maggots crawling in a fester' d vice ! 

Adulterous to the verj^ heart of Hell. 

Hast thou a knife ? 

Alice, 

Ay, Madam, but o' God's mercy — 

Mary. 

Fool, think' st thou I would peril mine own soul 
By slaughter of the bodj^ ? I could not, girl, 
Not this way — callous with a constant stripe, 
Unwoundable. Thy knife ! 



I 



SCENE v.] QUEEK MARY. 259 

Alice. 

Take heed, take heed ! 
The blade is keen as death. 

Mary. 

This Philip shall not 

Stare in upon me in my haggardness ; 

Old, miserable, diseased, 

Incapable of children. Come thou down. 

l^Outs out the picture and throws it down. 
Lie there. {Wails,) O God, I have killed my 
Philip. 

Alice. 
No, 
Madam, you have but cut the canvas out, 
We can replace it. 

Mary. 

All is well then ; rest — 
I will to rest ; he said, I must have rest. 

\^Cries of " Elizabeth " in the street, 
A cry ! What's that? Elizabeth? revolt? 
A new Northumberland, another Wyatt? 
I'll fight it on the threshold of the grave. 

Lady Clarence. 
Madam, your royal sister comes to see you. 

Mary. 
I will not see her. 



260 



QUEEN MAEY. 



[act Y. 



Who knows if Bolej^n's daughter be my sister? 
I will see none except the priest. Your arm. 

[To Lady Clarence. 
O Saint of Aragon, with that sweet worn smile 
Among thy patient wrinkles — Help me hence. 

[^Exeunt, 

The Priest passes. Enter Elizabeth arid Sir 
William Cecil. 

Elizabeth. 
Good counsel yours — 

No one in waiting? still, 
As if the chamberlain were Death himself ! 
The room she sleeps in — is not this the way ? 
No, that way there are voices. Am I too late? 
Cecil . . . God guide me lest I lose the way. 

\^Exit Elizabeth. 

Cecil. 

Man}^ points weather' d, man}^ perilous ones. 
At last a harbor opens ; but therein 
Sunk rocks — they need fine steering — much it is 
To be nor mad, nor bigot — have a mind — 
Not let Priests' talk, or dream of worlds to be, 
Miscolor things about her — sudden touches 
For him, or him — sunk rocks ; no passionate 

faith — 
But — if let be — balance and compromise ; 



SCENE v.] QUEEN MARY. 261 

Brave, wary, sane to the heart of her — a Tudor 
School'd by the shadow of death — aBoleyn, too, 
Glancmg across the Tudor — not so well. 

Enter Alice. 
How is the good Queen now ? 

Alice, 

Away from Philip. 
Back in her childhood — prattling to her mother 
Of her betrothal to the Emperor Charles, . 
And childlike-jealous of him again — and once 
She thank' d her father sweetly for his book 
Against that godless German. Ah, those days 
Were happ}'. It was never merry world 
In England, since tbe Bible came among us. 

Cecil. 

And who says that ? 

Alice. 

It is a saying among the Catholics. 

Cecil. 

It never will be merry world in England, 
Till all men have their Bible, rich and poor. 

Alice. 
The Queen is dying, or you dare not say it. 



262 QUEEN MABY, [ACT V, 

[^Enter Elizabeth. 

Elizabeth, 
The Queen is dead, 

Cecil. 
Then here she stands ! my homage. 

Elizabeth. 

She knew me, and acknowledged me her heir, 
Pray'd me to pay her debts, and keep the Faith ; 
Then claspt the cross, and pass'd away in peace. 
I left her lying still and beautiful. 
More beautiful than in life. Wh}^ should 3^ou 

vex yourself. 
Poor sister? Sir, I swear I have no heart 
To be your Queen. To reign is restless fence, 
Tierce, quart, and trickery. Peace is with the 

dead. 
Her life was winter, for her spring was nipt : 
And she loved much : pra}^ God she be forgiven. 

Cecil. 
Peace with the dead, who never were at peace ! 
Yet she loved one so much — I needs must say — 
That never English monarch d3ing left 
England so little. 



SCENE v.] QUEEN MARY. 263 

Elizabeth. 

But with Cecil's aid 
And others, if our person be secured 
From traitor stabs — we will make England great. 

Enter Paget, and other Lords of the Council, 
Sir Ralph Bagenhall, &g. 

Lords. 
God save Elizabeth, the Queen of England I 

Bagenhall. 
God save the Crown : the Papacy is no more. 

Paget (aside). 
Are we so sure of that ? 

Acclamation. 

God *ave the Queen ! 

THE END. 



M 451 85 



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